‘Might I suggest,’ said Colin, sipping his tea, ‘that we don’t clean up the hotel, then? Might I suggest that it would be better for our . . . present purposes if it was left in its current disrepair? It’s a pity that we can’t cave the roof in again, but we’ll just have to make do.’

He looked at the shocked faces around him. ‘This has nothing to do with my dislike of manual labour, let me assure you.’

After they had made the (brilliantly strategic) decision to leave the hotel as it was, Elle found it surprisingly easy to slip into a state of almost childlike abandon. Suddenly there was nothing more to do, nothing more to plan and very little to think about other than what the next few days might bring.

Penny and Colin didn’t mind if she tagged along with them. She suspected it was a case of: we’ve got the rest of our lives to be alone and happy together, why not spend some time with your poor lonely sister?

To Ned’s delight, they went down into the town and got their hands on a turntable from Wally Ryan and played his new records in the ballroom. Colin taught a jive, how to waltz properly and more dangerously, the tango. Elle and Penny almost knocked each other unconscious with that one. Ned clapped along but refused to join them on the dance floor, but they all knew he’d never been a dancing man. Instead he seemed happy to watch his daughters being carefree, while he lost himself in the music, and whatever associated memories the songs inspired.

Very quickly, the ballroom started looking tatty again, the greenery beginning to brown and curl at the edges, the flowers wilting fast. It felt decadent in a way, to dance and have fun amongst the wreckage.

They watched old movies in the family lounge, curled up on the fat green and gold striped couches that Anna had loved. Colin made popcorn and they laughed their way through the old comedies while the house shivered and shuddered in the storm.

‘If this keeps up,’ said Ned on Monday night, ‘the viewers may not be able to make it up tomorrow.’

‘They’ll make it up if that auctioneer has anything to do with it,’ said Elle. ‘Noah’s flood itself couldn’t keep them away.’

That night, even though she had spent a frivolously light-hearted weekend with her family, Elle felt strangely empty. No matter what anyone said, it was essential that they saved the hotel.

Their mother was everywhere in it, in the elegant furnishings, in the tiny little touches, like the towel arrangement that still sat at the bottom of every guest bed. She was in the library, with its selection of fat, spine-split paperbacks. She was in the bar, which she had always polished to high shine.