He considered whether it was a good idea to try and ingratiate himself further, but thought better of it. ‘Well…hello.’ He offered his hand, and for the first time in many years experienced a faint feeling of shyness.

She shook his hand firmly and smiled. ‘I’ll try not to get in your way.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Do you…I mean…would you like a coffee?’

She seemed very relaxed, which surprised him. It was not an accusation that could ever be levelled at her mother whose breakneck intensity almost always left him on edge. He reproached himself for wondering how such a plain mother could have given birth to such a beautiful daughter. He had had enough experience of mothers and daughters over the years to know that this was often the case. He put the uncharitable thought out of his head.

‘I was saying to Luisa–er…your mum–that I didn’t really need quite the looking after she seems to think.’

‘Oh?’

‘She didn’t say?’

‘No. She just told me to keep the house clean, to do the washing when it was needed and to make sure you had lunch when you were at home.’

‘I see.’

He made the coffee and polite conversation. He should have told her he didn’t want lunch. Especially as her mother had said she was not a good cook. But somehow he didn’t get round to it.

‘Shall we start upstairs?’ he asked. Then realized the slight double entendre. ‘I mean…’

‘Yes, then we can work our way down,’ she said, with the merest glimmer of a smile.

He showed her the bedrooms and bathrooms, then his own study on the top floor. ‘You won’t need to do much in here. Far too messy. I can sort this out myself.’

Maria looked round at the pale oak shelves that lined the wall.

‘Sorry. Rather a lot of books. Bit of a vice I’m afraid.’

She walked towards them. ‘You like opera?’ she asked, pointing at the fat volume of Kobbé.

‘Some. Not all. Puccini and Verdi. Some Mozart. One Wagner.’

‘Which one?’

‘Meistersingers.’

Maria nodded. ‘The only one I can take, too.’

Christopher was surprised. ‘Most folk run a mile from Wagner.’

‘I’d run a mile from Siegfried,’ she said.

Christopher laughed, and a ray of sunlight beamed in at the window. Maria looked out over the garden. ‘Wow! Who does that?’

‘Er…I do actually.’

‘I see.’ She looked out again, over the green lawns and the beds, but said nothing.

‘Shall we go downstairs then?’ Christopher gestured towards the door.