Anna hears an engine and looks out of the window again. A pickup truck drives slowly into the yard. It must be between ten and fifteen years old. It stops by the trees where Milo and Agnes disappeared; the barking and shouting is still going on. The driver jumps out, but he moves so quickly that she only catches a glimpse of him before he heads off into the forest. A man in an oilskin jacket, Wellington boots and a flat cap.

‘As you’ve already seen from the plan I sent you, there are two bedrooms, a laundry room, a study and a living room on the ground floor, but I thought we’d start upstairs in what used to be the chapel.’

Call-me doesn’t seem to have noticed the arrival of the pickup. He has opened one of the doors in the hallway, revealing a steep staircase brightly lit from above; the top steps are barely visible because of the glare. He gestures invitingly, but Anna hesitates. Milo has been missing for almost ten minutes. She really ought to go out and see how Agnes is getting on, particularly since the stranger turned up. She hears the sound of barking again.

‘Hang on a minute,’ she says, going outside. She shades her eyes with her hand, peers into the gloom among the trees. Sees some kind of movement.

Agnes emerges, accompanied by the man in the oilskin jacket. He is carrying Milo under one arm, but instead of wriggling as the terrier usually does when someone tries to hold on to him, the dog is perfectly still. They stop next to the pickup and chat. The conversation seems lively, and after a little while Agnes opens the camera bag looped over her shoulder and begins to photograph the man with her dog.

‘Agnes!’ She doesn’t really know why she called out, regrets it before she’s even closed her mouth. To her surprise, Agnes raises a hand and waves. Takes a few more pictures before she and the man set off towards the house.

About halfway across the yard, he puts Milo down. Instead of immediately shooting off back to the forest, the dog trots along happily next to the man’s left leg. His coat is muddy, his mouth is open, his tongue hanging out. His eyes are firmly fixed on his companion. Agnes continues to take photographs. As they get closer, Anna understands why. The man has a rugged, weather-beaten appearance which, combined with the cap, the jacket and the checked flannel shirt he is wearing underneath it, makes him look like an older Swedish version of the Marlboro Man. He’s probably about sixty, his body is lean and he moves with ease, as if he’s used to being outdoors. Something in his eyes tells her that he’s considerably older than he appears to be.