“Bloody hell,” said Banks. “You’d think he’s had Capability Brown in to come up with this lot.”

Though the grounds resembled those of a Tuscan villa, the house itself was bland. It was certainly large, however—three stories of limestone and brick, complete with bay windows, gables and a low-pitched, slate roof. At the front stood an ostentatious porch supported by stone columns.

“Shall we knock or ring the bell?”

“The bell,” said Annie. “I want to hear what tune it plays.”

The bell didn’t play any tune at all; it just made a dull electronic buzz for as long as Banks held the button down. Eventually, a slender middle-aged man in a dark suit and waistcoat opened the door and regarded them with an expression of mixed surprise and distaste. He raised a bushy eyebrow in question.

Banks and Annie pulled out their warrant cards. “Mr. Blaydon?” said Banks.

“Please follow me,” said the man, turning. “Mr. Blaydon is in his study. I’ll announce you.”

Banks and Annie exchanged looks, then stood in the large high-ceilinged entrance hall and waited. Banks gazed at the gilt-framed oil paintings hung on the wainscotted walls: a stormy seascape with a listing sailing ship, peasants bent over gathering sheaves at harvest time.

Then the man returned. “Mr. Blaydon will see you now, sir, madam,” he said.

Banks and Annie followed him through a door beside the broad staircase and along a narrow corridor lined with framed pencil drawings, mostly nudes. The butler, or whatever he was, knocked on one of the doors and a voice said, “Enter.”

The butler opened the door and Banks and Annie entered. A man sat facing them across a large desk, his back to the mullioned windows, which framed a view of the extensive gardens. The desk was scattered with papers, and the rest of the place was similarly untidy. The window was partially open, and Banks could hear birds singing in the garden.

Blaydon stood up, made his way past a couple of piles of paper and shook hands with them both, then went back to his chair. “Pull up a couple of chairs,” he said, then looked around at the mess and smiled. “Just dump those files on the floor. I like a bit of disorder. Can’t bear everything in its place. It used to be a bone of contention, I can you tell you. Gabriella—the wife as was—she liked everything just so. For the sake of our marriage, we agreed that this room is sacrosanct, though I can’t say it did any good in the long run.”

“You’ve separated?”

“Divorced,” said Blaydon. “A couple of years back.”

“Kids?”

“One of each. Hang on just a minute.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk and the man who had answered the door reappeared.

“Tea or coffee?” Blaydon asked. “Or something stronger, perhaps?”

“Coffee would be fine,” said Banks.

Annie nodded in agreement.

“Fine, then,” said Blaydon, and the man went off.

“The butler?” Banks inquired.

“Who? Jeeves? I suppose so. Though I don’t think they call themselves that anymore. And that’s not his real name, of course. Hates it when I call him that. He’s Roberts. He helps out around the place. Better than a wife, and much less trouble. Now what can I do for you? You didn’t tell me anything over the phone.”