The tea room, which seemed to have been set up especially for the day, was a deep disappointment. After the grandeur of the house, I was expecting white tablecloths and fine china, hoping for dainty sandwiches, scones and serious slabs of cake. But the tea came out of an urn, set up on a trestle table and was served in plastic cups. We sat at a table sticky with spilt grains of sugar from torn paper packets, and grabbed the last two biscuits from a solitary plate. They were slightly soft.

‘Not exactly National Trust standard, is it?’ Paul asked, grinning. ‘I suppose they don’t feel they need to make an effort.’ He nodded across to the house. ‘The sale’s what it’s all about. That’s what the people are here for.’

‘I’d no idea that it was going to be such a grand affair,’ I admitted. ‘I didn’t realise Nick dealt in such expensive stuff.’

Paul shrugged. ‘Mostly, he doesn’t. We don’t come to this kind of sale very often. I just help him out from time to time with repairs and restoring things. We’re not really in business together.’

I wondered if he knew anything about Nick’s back-door dealings, specifically about Vlad, but I didn’t ask. ‘But you deal in antiques as well?’

‘I suppose you’d call it that. I restore furniture. I don’t seem to sell much.’ He shrugged. ‘I rent a space in Ashburton Art and Antiques Bazaar.’

I knew the place. This rather pretentiously named emporium was an old market hall that had been renovated, then divided up into units, which were rented out to individual traders, creating an odd mixture of antiques, arts and crafts, and local foodstuffs. I had an artist friend, Sophie, who starved there on a regular basis. I realised I must have seen Paul’s things there, though not necessarily Paul himself. The traders took it in turns to look after one another’s units, so they didn’t all need to be there every day.

He sighed. ‘I’m thinking of pulling out soon.’

I was about to ask why when Nick appeared in the doorway of the tea room and began shuffling in our direction. He was looking tired and a little grey and refused the offer of tea. ‘We go home now,’ he announced and I sensed the outing had been too much for him.

I threaded my arm through his as we walked back to the car. ‘I spotted the bonheur du jour. It looks so different in this setting, really lovely.’

Nick chuckled. ‘Hope it make lovely price. We see.’

‘I didn’t know you knew Mrs Clarke,’ I added casually.

‘Mrs Snooty Bitch,’ he grunted, and I laughed.

‘Will you come back for the auction?’

He shook his head. ‘I watch online.’

‘Will you be bidding for anything?’