There was a man with an extravagant blonde moustache working at the reception desk and she walked over, composing herself with a deep breath. ‘Hello. I’m with Mr Von Greyers and his son. Could you tell me where they are, please?’

The man’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her – was there a dress code here? Was her dress too short? Her hair too scruffy? – and he stopped typing. ‘May I see some ID confirming that?’

Her smile faded. ‘What?’

‘ID, miss.’

‘I don’t have any ID. What would I need that for?’

He looked away and around the room, as though checking he wasn’t going to offend any neighbours with his words. ‘Well, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be the first young lady to purport to be one of Mr Von Greyers’ employees.’

She stared at him, incredulous. ‘I’m his son’s nanny.’

‘Yes, madam. That’s what they tend to say.’

She gave a short bark of laughter that would have made Nina proud. ‘Oh my God! Are you seriously—’

‘It’s okay, Lennart, she’s with me.’

She turned to find Emil walking towards her. He must have been sitting in one of the chairs by the window. Had he been waiting for her? Watching her with Kris?

Why?

‘Where’s Linus?’ she asked, hot-cheeked that he must have overheard this pompous man’s ridiculous intimations that she was some sort of . . . groupie.

He regarded her coolly, his cap still on. ‘Already in the cinema. I thought I’d wait for you. The room can be hard to find if you don’t know where to look.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’ A reluctant hero again?

A moment pulsed, silent and tense, the two of them ever at odds.

‘Lennart, please remember her for future reference,’ he said, not taking his eyes off her. ‘Her name is Bell Appleshaw.’

‘Certainly, sir. And I’ll make a note that she’s your son’s nanny?’

Emil began walking briskly away. ‘That’s correct. She’s just the nanny.’

Chapter Nineteen

‘Linus?’ She sat up, the dim light playing tricks on her as she squinted into the gloom, her heart pounding deeply in her chest. ‘Is that you, sweetie?’

Her ears strained for a sound, but the silence was as enveloping as the darkness. It was a cloudy night and the moon was hiding behind tufted clouds, the resident owl silent in his tree. But someone had been in here, she could feel it – the trace of their presence like a heat, a scent left behind, her sixth sense twitching, lifting her from sleep.

Was her mind playing tricks, or had she simply been roused by something outside? A fox catching a mouse? She waited another moment, still listening hard, before she threw back the covers and walked to the windows, folding back one of the shutters. She looked out over the treetops. The dusky sky vaulted above her; the pine wood was an inky blot, the lawn silvered and . . . studded with footprints in the dew. She peered more closely into the black mass of trees, hearing now branches snapping, the flash of something pale suddenly catching the eye like quicksilver. She stared harder, her heart beating strongly again. It could have been a white hart.