In the end, we found an alternative route less than a mile back down the road. It was twenty past six when the sign for the Bigwood estate loomed out of the darkness. I had tried calling Melody Briggs again to let her know there’d been a delay, but there was no answer – probably because she was currently hosting a drinks reception for the candidates who had managed to arrive on time. When we pulled up at the giant gates and pressed the intercom buzzer, a man’s voice crackled back, asking if we could hold up a piece of identification at the security camera.

‘I’m Bea Armstrong, and this is my driver,’ I chirruped once I’d brandished my driving licence, as though this were the kind of thing I did all the time. The only response was the gates gliding open, so I assumed we passed the test.

We crunched up a curving drive lined with trees on either side, their boughs dusted with snow. Above our heads was a sparkling canopy of Christmas lights, strung between the branches. After about a quarter of a mile, we rounded another bend to see what appeared to be a floodlit castle up ahead. In front of the stone building the drive opened up to a wide, circular space in the centre of which stood an enormous Christmas tree covered in red and gold lights. As Henry pulled around the tree to a row of parked cars, about a dozen, three-foot-high, animatronic figures waved, bowed, or spun around to offer us a present.

‘They’re elves!’ I exclaimed, slightly creeped out by their grinning faces leering through the shadows. Pausing with one hand on my seat belt, I looked at Henry. ‘Do you think they might start following us if we get out?’

‘Don’t worry, someone’s keeping an eye on them.’ Henry nodded to where a wooden structure sat on a patch of lawn. An enormous star on the roof lit up the nativity scene below, and the sombre looks on Mary’s and Joseph’s faces were somewhat reassuring. We climbed out, limbs stiff from the long journey, and I creaked around to where Henry was unloading the boot.

‘It’s like someone exploded a Christmas bomb,’ I whispered, spotting more figurines, lights and other decorations every time I looked in a new direction.

‘This must be what Christmas looks like when you’re a billionaire.’

I shuddered. ‘Either that or he needs to sack his decorator.’

We walked over to the wide steps leading up to enormous wooden doors painted red. The stone pillars either side of them were covered in ivy dotted with more lights, overshadowed by the huge silver faces of what I presumed to be angels, glowering at us from the undergrowth at the top of each one.