‘. . . They send their apologies,’ Carlotta said, pouring the champagne into tall flutes and handing them out. ‘They took advantage of the fresh powder and lost track of time. They said to go on without them.’

‘Well, when will they be back?’ Matty asked. ‘We could wait.’

‘They said they couldn’t be sure.’

Clover, Matty and Johnny swapped looks. This was becoming ridiculous.

Carlotta straightened up; her mid-length dark hair was held back in a low ponytail and she moved with a steady briskness. She was officious and seemingly not prone to smiling. ‘Dinner tonight will be tafelspitz.’

‘Tafelspitz,’ Johnny echoed blankly.

‘Yes. It is a traditional Austrian dish – boiled beef broth with root vegetables, horseradish and minced apples. Mr Foley thought you might enjoy a typical Austrian meal on your first night here.’

‘Boiled beef broth? How kind of him,’ Johnny said with a lightness that betrayed sarcasm.

‘It sounds delicious,’ Clover said quickly. ‘Is Mr Foley always so considerate to his guests?’

‘Mr Foley has never had guests here.’

‘Really?’ She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

‘Well, I mean to say, his guests do not usually come for dinner.’

Matty caught Clover’s eye and smirked.

Clover tried to ignore her. ‘Have you worked for him long?’

Carlotta nodded with a note of pride. ‘Since he arrived in Zell am See.’

Clover took a sip of her champagne. It was good stuff, vintage – biscuity, with a golden colour. ‘So that’s over a year now, isn’t it? You must know him quite well.’

But Carlotta was clearly not inclined to chat; she briskly replaced the champagne in the ice bucket. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed in the kitchen,’ she said, hurrying away.

Once she was out of sight, they swapped looks again.

‘She’s terrified you’re going to interview her,’ Matty muttered.

‘She’s right to be. She must have some dirt on them, surely?’ Clover said, reaching for an olive.

‘Well, I just wished I’d changed into my trackies,’ Matty moaned, tugging at the waistband of her skinny jeans. ‘I thought it was the least I could do to make an effort for the first meeting. But they can’t even be arsed to show up?’

‘So good of them to arrange for our dinner to be “boiled beef” though . . .’ Johnny puffed his cheeks out, feigning nausea.

‘It’s all fine,’ Clover demurred with a placidity she didn’t quite feel. ‘We shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. Foley plays games. This is what he does.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s simply showing his hand.’ She took another long, slow sip of her champagne but inside, she felt rattled. This wait, wait, constant waiting, for him to get back . . . She felt like she’d been holding her breath all day. It was disconcerting being alone in the home of the man who was her friends’ mortal enemy. They were expected, but not welcome.