‘Not a great deal structurally.’ He smiled at her. ‘Being a confirmed old bachelor I’m pretty resistant to change and the inside of the house is much as it was in my parents’ day.’ He added drily: ‘And equally cold and inconvenient, so I’m told, but I don’t really notice those things. Not being a hunting man – unlike most of my forebears – my contribution has been to convert the old stables into garages for my collection of cars. I prefer engines to equestrianism.’

‘Oh me, too!’ Marnie decided that she liked her eccentric neighbour very much. ‘Could I see your cars if I came over, as well as the records?’

‘You could, I suppose,’ he said rather doubtfully, ‘but in my experience, most women seem to find them rather boring.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ said Marnie decisively. ‘I’ve been driving since I was a kid of eleven – not on the highway, of course – but my father’s a real car freak. He’s got his own racetrack back home in Virginia. He had me and my half-brothers practising on skidpads as soon as we could steer an old banger round the track. My father’s got a 1933 Packard V12 which comes out on state occasions. It’s known in the family as “Dad’s mistress” – though goodness knows he’s had plenty of the real variety too. And he adores roaring round in his old Ford Mustang. I enjoy driving that too. But then I love driving . . . almost anything.’

‘What is it you specially like about it?’ Neil Dunbarnock looked at her with interest.