By all accounts he’s a very pleasant man, and Leon hazards a guess that his frugal lifestyle is more about keeping the running costs under control in the rest of the house than a weird, reclusive personality. Because owning and maintaining a stately home is a very expensive business, and the Earl is either fast running out of cash, or he’s suddenly become aware of the commercial opportunities that he would do well to exploit. That’s why he’s opening up the grounds to the paying public for Tattenhall’s first concert on Saturday, and that’s why he has submitted architects’ plans to convert the stables on the far side of the estate into five cottages which, with the renovation of the tennis courts and the old swimming pool, will make for an incredible holiday rental. Leon has been brought in to oversee all of this.

I’m consumed by a sudden burst of pride and instead of following the drive round to the right towards the cottage, I take the left-hand fork, going around the back of the main house. There, down in the dip, towards the far perimeter of the estate, is the metal structure that is being erected to stage the twenty-five-piece orchestra that’ll be entertaining us on Saturday.

As I sit and watch the crew working under the floodlights, I feel terribly guilty, and wonder if I’ve given Leon the credit he deserves. He’s had so much on his plate recently and there’s no doubt that this event, if it’s as successful as he hopes, will be the highlight of his career.

I should be working with him instead of against him, and as I pull away and drive to the cottage, I promise both him and myself that as soon as this weekend is out of the way, I’ll sit down and tell him everything.

I’m still thinking about how best to approach it, when I look up to see the dimmest of glows creeping out from around the closed curtains in our bedroom. I turn the engine off and sit unmoving with my heart in my mouth, knowing that I had neither drawn the curtains nor left a light on before leaving.

Whilst admittedly I went out in a rush, it had still been light outside, and I don’t even think I’d gone upstairs. I look down to check I hadn’t changed between work and making dinner. No, I’m still wearing black trousers and my Paul Smith cherry-print blouse, though my sling-back heels have been replaced with a pair of ballerina pumps. Were they upstairs or had they been lying by the front door on the hall floor? I’d bet everything I had on the latter, so why then is our bedroom light on?