‘Actually the saying is seven years’ bad luck in love,’ Rob corrected, his voice softening. ‘But I don’t think . . .’ He gave her a tender look that she recognised instantly but hadn’t seen in almost two decades, ‘that you need to worry about that.’ Without warning, he gathered her gently into his arms and kissed her. Elle felt her hands tingle, the blood rushing straight to her heart, which was beating like a drum.

‘Your poor nose,’ he said then, as though he had just noticed the bruises. ‘Your poor, poor nose.’ He began to kiss her nose, then her cheeks, and then her forehead. He held her like he was holding something infinitely precious.

Stunned by the unexpectedness of it all, and at how familiar and natural it seemed, Elle felt herself respond, and the job at hand was temporarily abandoned.

Penny returned to her mother’s office after dinner, the pull of Anna’s story irresistible, especially after what Ned had revealed about the early days of the hotel.

Pulling more of the diaries out of the bottom drawer, she began making neat stacks in groups of five years, starting from the very beginning. When completed, she found that she had approximated the length of time that her mother had been keeping a diary – about forty years.

‘That was a lot of writing Mum,’ she said in admiration, recalling her own inability to keep a diary for more than a week before getting distracted and abandoning the endeavour completely.

Consulting the spines of the books, she found the very first one and picked it up with eager hands. The first entry was dated March 10, 1975 and it was clear what this entry was about.

I’ve never kept a diary before – but I feel that now is the time. Don’t ask me why, I just feel events occurring that I need to keep track of. I hate to say for ‘longevity’s sake’ but I suppose that is a part of it.

Anyway, I met someone. His name is Ned.

I feel so foolish and very much like a schoolgirl starting a diary just because I met a fella. But I can’t escape the idea that this one happens to be special. But he isn’t at all like some of the guys I know from town – I suppose that is why I like him. Of course, I have no idea what the future holds, if it holds anything really – but I have a feeling. Just call it a hunch.

So what’s he like?

Well, he is a bit quiet – a bit introverted, private, pretty much my exact opposite truth be told, but you know what they say about opposites . . .