We all turn to look at the gates, resolutely closed against the world. There’s a kind of burning in my chest. Who does this man think he is? How can he be so mean? To my mum?

“I’ll go,” says Alicia firmly, and before anyone can protest, she’s striding toward the gates, pulling out one of her Golden Peace business cards. We all watch dumbly as she presses the buzzer, speaks, holds up her card to the camera, speaks again, starts getting really angry, and eventually swings away.

“This is outrageous,” she’s spitting as she rejoins the group. “He claimed not to have heard of Golden Peace! Clearly he’s a liar. I don’t know why we’re wasting our time with him.”

“He’s the only lead we’ve got!” says Mum.

“Well, perhaps your husband should have chosen his friends more carefully,” says Alicia, her old snide manner reappearing.

“Well, perhaps you should keep your opinions to yourself!” responds Mum hotly, and for a moment I think she and Alicia might start some full-scale row, but Luke intervenes.

“Let me have a go,” he says, and heads off toward the ranch entrance. As he speaks into the microphone we’re all watching agog, hoping maybe he knows the special magic words, like Ali Baba at the cave entrance. But soon he turns and shakes his head. As he rejoins the group, he’s looking pensive.

“I don’t think we’ll crack him,” he says. “He sent his housekeeper to talk to me. He doesn’t want to engage.”

“So what do we do?” wails Mum. “Here he is, he must know the story….” She waves a hand angrily at the gates.

“Regroup,” says Luke. “It’s getting late. We need to eat and sleep. Maybe we’ll come up with a bright idea over some food.”

—

I think we’re all hoping that the food will trigger a moment of genius in one of us. As we tuck into steaks and fries and cornbread at the Tall Rock Inn, Cactus Creek, there’s a feeling of optimism. Surely one of us will think of something brilliant?

Oh, come on. Someone has to think of something.

People keep starting sentences with “Ooh! Maybe…” and then losing confidence and trailing off into silence. I’ve had about five ideas involving scaling the walls of Raymond’s ranch, which I haven’t shared.

The trouble is, I don’t think any of us had thought much beyond finding Raymond, being welcomed into his ranch and offered beds for the night, and having a wonderful supper while Raymond got Dad on the phone and sorted everything out. (Well, that’s what I was expecting, anyway.)

As the steak plates are cleared away and the dessert menus handed round, conversation has died away to a minimum and I’m wondering who’ll be first to say, Let’s give up.

It won’t be me. No way. I’m here till the bitter end. But it might be Janice. She’s looking a bit frayed around the edges. I bet she’s longing to get back to Oxshott.