I didn’t say anything, but I did give him a surreptitious once-over as I pulled on my coat. He looked for all the world as if he’d stepped off the set of some photo shoot for supersized blokes. He certainly wasn’t groomed to the max like Jonathan. Beamish was too rough around the edges to pull off that look, but the chunky jumper his broad chest was encased in would have certainly been comforting to cuddle up against.

I breathed him in, inwardly acknowledging that the woody scent of his aftershave ensured he was a treat for all the senses before realising that my silly crush was springing up again, leaping around my feet like an over-excited puppy demanding a fuss. I pushed it away before it stood to attention.

‘Right then,’ he said, clapping his hands together and helpfully breaking the spell, ‘are we all set?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Dolly, gathering up her handbag and a Christmas bag with a card and a couple of presents in it. ‘I’ve been wishing the time away all day.’

The lights covering the hall were already lit and as Beamish drove slowly along the drive, Dolly found it hard to contain her excitement. Beamish smiled at me in the rearview mirror and I smiled back. It was impossible not to.

‘Here’s Gabe,’ said Beamish, his eyes returning to the view ahead.

‘And what’s that he’s got with him?’ Dolly gasped. ‘Some sort of bear!’

I leant forward to get a clearer look. Given what I’d heard about the hall, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

‘That’s his dog, Bran,’ Beamish laughed. ‘He’s an Irish wolfhound and the most placid creature on the planet.’

Both the man, Gabe, and his dog, were of impressive stature and given Beamish’s bulk I was beginning to think there was something in the Wynbridge air or water which bred big, broad blokes.

‘You can park right in front of the courtyard gate,’ Gabe told Beamish as he pulled alongside him. ‘And I’ve salted the path to the kitchen door so it’s not slippery.’

‘Thank you, young man,’ said Dolly regally and I had to stave off a giggle.

The Wynthorpe Hall kitchen was like nothing I had ever encountered. It was vast, high ceilinged, warm, cluttered and full of smiling people, not all of whom I soon realised were family.

‘We might not all be related,’ said Catherine once she had introduced us to two of her sons and their partners, including Molly who actually was giving off a very witchy vibe, along with the cook, handyman and housekeeper, Hayley (the young woman responsible for designing that ill-fated Christmas card), ‘but we’re family nonetheless. Angus is about somewhere . . .’ she added, doing a quick head count.

‘I think he’s roped Gabe into doing something,’ said Hayley, shaking her head.