I was still in midthought when the doorbell rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Should I answer it? What if it was only Binky, who was quite likely to have forgotten his key? Whoever it was, they might only come back if the door wasn’t answered now. I would just have to get rid of them. I shuddered at that particular choice of words. Not the best in current circumstances. I started down the two flights of stairs, was just about to open the front door, and suddenly realized I was still wearing my maid’s uniform. I grabbed my coat from the hall rack and slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around me. Then I opened the door.

“Oh, hello, may I speak to Lady—oh, my gosh, Georgie, it’s you.”

Tristram Hautbois stood there, his dark hair flopping boyishly over his forehead, beaming at me.

“Tristram. Oh. What a surprise,” I stammered.

“Sorry to show up unexpectedly like this,” he said, still with that expectant smile on his face, “but the old boy at the solicitors I work for sent me to deliver some papers to an address just around the corner and I thought it seemed too tempting not to see where you lived and say hello. It feels like ages since I saw you last.”

Since I had seen him less than an hour ago, I didn’t know what to say to this. Obviously he didn’t associate the kneeling sweeper in black uniform with me. I pulled the coat more tightly around me.

“Were you just going out?” he asked.

“No, just got home. Haven’t had time to take off my coat yet,” I said.

“Are you under the weather?”

“No, why?”

“It’s not that cold out today,” he said. “In fact it’s quite mild. I’m not even wearing an overcoat and here you are, all bundled up.”

“The house is always so chilly with these high ceilings.” I could hear myself babbling and tried to regain my composure.

“What a piece of luck that my timing was so good then, wasn’t it?” he said. “I hope you don’t mind my showing up on your doorstep like this. So this is Rannoch House. I must say it’s pretty impressive. I’d love you to show me around. I understand that your father was something of a collector and you’ve some fine paintings.”

“I’d be happy to show you around, Tristram, but now isn’t the best of times,” I said, cutting off the end of his sentence.

His face fell. He had the most schoolboyish of faces, his joy or despair clearly showing for all to see.

“I thought you might be pleased to see me,” he said in a small voice.