Carol thought: He really does have an unpleasantly prying sort of gaze. Hunt rose.

‘I’ll tell our kitchen staff you’re here.’

He left the room by the double door in the far wall.

Bourne’s enquiry seemed casual.

‘How did you sleep?’

‘Very well.’

‘It was a fearsomely cold night.’ His eyes went to Paul. ‘And you, Mr Wilson?’

‘I did waken up once or twice. Strange surroundings, I suppose.’ He decided to change the subject.

‘I saw some of your people shovelling snow from the cars.’

‘Yes. We’ll have your car ready for you after breakfast. I imagine you’re anxious to get on your way.’

‘Yes.’

Hunt returned bearing a tray laden with dishes. He was followed by Ann Parish carrying a coffee-pot. The smell of bacon and eggs made the Wilsons realize how hungry they were.

As they exchanged good mornings, Paul thought: She senses or knows something. And then, in a fit of impatience with himself: My God! I’m getting absolutely paranoic about this. It’s probably just because she knows we’re a honeymoon couple.

The door opened and Harry Fletcher strode in. He pushed the hood of his blue anorak back from his head. He hunched his plump shoulders and shivered in exaggerated fashion.

‘B-r-r-r! It really is cold outside. Real brass-monkey soprano weather. Is that fresh coffee, Jeremy?’

‘It is. How’s it going?’

‘Okay. We’ve dug out the Land-Rover and Meredith’s Volvo.’ He grinned at the Wilsons. ‘And your car. We’ve almost finished clearing the van. I’ll go and tell the others to come in.’ He halted at the door. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. That snow was piled up six feet deep against the side of the van. Incidentally . . . it doesn’t look too good. We got a weather forecast on the car radio. More snow coming in late this afternoon. The road report said half the roads in the north-west are blocked. Farmers fearing a high death rate in early lambs.’ He pulled his hood over his balding head. ‘Well, having delivered my load of good cheer, I’ll go get the others.’

Ann Parish looked at the Wilsons.

‘Is that cottage of yours in good shape? – weather-tight, with plenty of food and fuel?’

Carol buttered a slice of toast.

‘Oh yes. It’s really very substantial. And Dad made sure everything was ready for us.’

The door reopened. Pollard and Smith came in, followed by Harry Fletcher and Cliff Swanson. They greeted the Wilsons, helped themselves to coffee. Pollard cupped his hands round his hot coffee cup, his face shining with his exertions outside in the cold air.

‘Still going off after breakfast?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t want to worry you but you may find the going a bit tricky.’

Paul pushed his cup away.

‘We’ll go carefully. Well now, if you’ll excuse us we’ll go and pack up.’

In the bedroom, Carol turned to him.