‘He made a series of illustrations for a 1498 edition – the apocalypse was always an interesting subject at the brink of a new millennium. After the world failed to end, the work only cemented Dürer’s fame. I think you can see why?’ The drawings were so full of fierce and grisly vitality, they almost jumped off the pages.

‘I always say I can actually hear and feel the clattering hooves,’ said Stephen.

For some minutes, they turned the pages without speaking. It was that hushed and tender hour, when the birdsong sounds mournful and the mellowing of the light turns everything it touches to gold.

‘So, what do you think of black and white now?’ he asked, closing the book. His eyes were twinkling. He enjoyed testing and stretching people’s knowledge.

‘Brilliant,’ she smiled. ‘You’ve won me over.’

But as they talked, Stephen’s mind raced. He already suspected that Mark might be infatuated with Ginie. Now that he had seen Diana’s reaction, it was clear that he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Guthrie joined them for supper, with apologies for his lateness. Usually, he took great care with his appearance, but tonight his clothes were rumpled and his face looked pale beneath the suntan. He had driven from Salisbury and had punctured a tyre on the way. Ginie declared that they were all glad he was there in one piece. Stephen poured him a glass of chilled chablis and Guthrie sank into a chair, thanking them for their kindness.

It was Sunday and the staff had a half day, so instead of a proper evening meal they had cold meats and salads. Jongy was on his perch in the dining room. Diana eyed him uneasily. Mark tried to pet him, but Jongy waved his tail and let out an eerie wail that sounded just like a police siren, so Mark withdrew his hand quickly. An unpleasant smell filled the room.

‘He doesn’t like being handled by anyone but me and occasionally Stephen,’ explained Ginie with a smile, opening a window. ‘That odour is a defence mechanism.’

They sat down and began to pass dishes around. Stephen uncorked a bottle of claret and poured for everyone. As he filled Mark’s glass, he asked mildly, ‘What made you decide to collect butterflies? I always found it’s rather like hoarding marbles for their pretty colours. They don’t have much scientific value.’

Mark’s eyebrow shot up and he looked pointedly at the Turner paintings. Ginie cut in before he could form a reply.

‘Actually, there’s something we want to ask your advice about,’ she said, laying down her knife and fork.

He gave her a slow, sweet smile. ‘Go on, then.’