He is leading her towards an oddly narrow door at the end of the corridor. He has a large key in his hand, which he puts into the lock.

‘Boxroom,’ he says briefly, and pushes in.

She follows. The smell is enticing: warm and dusty and dry, scents of different kinds of wood, of old lavender. Around the room are piles of boxes, furniture, even paintings stacked against a wall. It is a treasure trove of the old and neglected, cast-offs of a long established family. In the wall opposite the door is a small window so covered in grime and cobwebs that it is difficult to see the countryside beyond. It doesn’t cast much glow but Sam has flicked on a switch, and a bare bulb, hanging from a long cloth-bound cable, supplements the weak natural light.

As Cara takes it all in she is aware that Sam is busy. He has found a long, oddly shaped pole, which he carries into the corner on her left, which is clear of shelves and boxes. Here he reaches up with the pole to a latch in the ceiling.

‘Keep back,’ he warns, and with practised ease he flicks the catch to allow a long panel to swing downwards on sturdy hinges. There is a little shower of debris as the panel swings back and forth above their heads. Sam is still working; from the corner he collects a long, sturdy wooden ladder, which he lifts into place below the hatch. She can see that on the ends of the struts there are large brass hooks that match with eyes that are set in the wooden beam above their heads. Sam slots the ladder into place and turns to grin at her.

‘Give me a moment,’ he says.

He puts his hand in his pocket, rooting around for something, and draws out a small old-fashioned key. Holding it in his right hand, he puts a foot on the ladder and climbs quickly and smoothly to the top.

His head, shoulders and arms disappear from view and he stands still for a moment. Then he places one foot higher on the ladder and, with an audible grunt, he springs upwards. As the hatch opens high above, daylight floods into the room. Sam comes back a few steps so he can look down at her upturned and anxious face.

‘I was fifteen before I could get that hatch open,’ he says, grinning at her. ‘Don’t tell Fliss. Come on, Cara. You’re going to love this.’

He springs back up the ladder, into the light, until he disappears from view.