The following evening, while they were having sundowners on the veranda with Mark and Diana Richardson, Stephen told them about Dixon’s warning about the snake.

‘It’s not something I believe in, of course,’ he said. ‘I wish I could persuade the staff not to be so superstitious. They all seem to think La Rochelle is haunted by poor little Jessica Zietsman, so they won’t go anywhere near that part of the garden.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard some talk of that,’ Mark commented cautiously.

‘Dixon says he can smell roses when she’s present,’ said Stephen.

He expected the Richardsons to laugh, but they looked grave.

‘I’ve come across some strange things in my time here too. I take talk of the supernatural a little more seriously these days,’ Mark said.

‘What on earth do you mean?’ asked Ginie.

He told them he had once bought a small flock of sheep from South Africa and disregarded the locals’ advice to make an offering of one of them. The sheep all died.

‘It pays to respect the beliefs of the indigenous people,’ he said. ‘Ignore them at your own risk.’

The hairs on Stephen’s arms stood up. He swallowed a mouthful of whisky and silence fell. Ginie broke it by suggesting that Mark take her for a walk before he scared them anymore. She wanted to show him the new planting in the Dell.

Mark got up and put his empty glass on the table. He then drew a handful of maize from a pouch on his belt, which he kept on hand for birdwatching, and threw it onto the lawn. Birds appeared from nowhere: big birds and small birds, drab birds and birds coloured like jewels. They alighted on the grass, pecked up the maize and flew off, swooping and fluttering, landing in trees or wheeling back to feed once more.

‘What a wonderful sight, Mark,’ said Ginie, after the last bird had flown away. ‘I enjoyed that.’ She got to her feet and took his arm. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Diana looked stricken.

Stephen caught her face and spoke quickly. ‘Why don’t we go inside, my dear, and look at some of my collections. It’s so nice to have a fellow enthusiast. What can I show you, silver, artwork or my Roman coins?’ With her eyes on Mark and Ginie disappearing into the Dell, Diana replied that she would love to see the paintings.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And how about some of the black and white drawings while we’re at it?’

‘Actually, I love colour. I’m not that keen on black and white.’

She awkwardly smoothed her dress over her knees. Stephen left the veranda and came back with a volume of black and white drawings by Dürer. Pulling his chair close to Diana’s, he opened the book. It was a collection of sketches for Dürer’s woodcut, Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.