I shine the torch around. Caress the room with its beam. Despite a game of Monopoly set out on the coffee table, ready to play, and two unlit candles standing either side of the board, there doesn’t seem to be anybody in.

I make my way up the stairs towards the dappled greyness of the landing and pass the open door to the shower room. It’s a stunning room – the best on the site, with its double sink and ivory tiles. Finn revamped it back in the spring. He did a wonderful job.

I continue along the landing, and try the handle of Elise’s room, but it’s locked. ‘Elise, are you in there?’

‘Yep!’ comes the reply.

‘It’s only me, lass. Ruth. I’ve brought towels.’

‘OK.’

I step into Rosamund’s room, and shine the torch towards the bed, catching sight of a scan of Rosamund’s baby propped against the lamp on the bedside unit. On the bottom of the bed is an orange hooded fur bed jacket. After laying the torch down, I pick it up. Within moments I’ve put the jacket on and zipped it up. It’s freakishly soft, and my body tingles as I run my hands over, it and pull up the hood.

I pick up the torch once more, and dip the beam towards the floor, spotting Rosamund’s case. I reach behind me and with the quietest of clicks close the door. I crouch down and open the case. The clothes inside are expensive; silk blouses and cashmere are packed neatly. If things had turned out differently with Michael, these are the kind of things I would have worn.

Suddenly the room fills with light. The power has returned. I dart a panicked look about me, feeling as though I’ve been caught out, and bolt to my feet. The shower starts up with a shudder through the pipes, and the sound of water cascading reaches my ears. I freeze for a moment, before willing myself to move.

It’s OK. I’ve done nothing wrong.

I place two towels on Rosamund’s bed, open the door and dash from the room, and onto the landing.

Elise’s door stands open. The shower-room door closed. I lean my head against the wood, listen to the flowing water.

‘I’m off now, love,’ I call, but there’s no reply.

There’s a noise downstairs. Rosamund’s back?

It’s OK. I’ve done nothing wrong.

Someone is coming up the stairs – slow and steady.

‘It’s only me, Rosamund,’ I call out, knowing I shouldn’t really be here, recalling how angry she’d been when she found me trying on her coat last time she was here. ‘I’m dropping off a couple of towels, that’s all.’

It’s OK. I’ve done nothing wrong.