‘It doesn’t get any easier. Grief.’ Christine pulls herself up to a sitting position, her eyes shimmering as she props herself against the baroque headboard. ‘He had terminal cancer. Though the irony is, it’s not how he died.’ She looks down at her hands, entwines her chubby fingers. ‘He was on medication when we went for a break in Cornwall, and I wonder now if that’s what made him unsteady on his feet … He went out for a walk along the cliffs and … well … he lost his footing, tumbled to his death.’

Alice covers her mouth, holding in a gasp. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, hearing the pain in Christine’s voice.

‘A blessing some might say.’ Christine shrugs. ‘Saved him any suffering he may have faced at the end, perhaps? If I had to lose him, and it seems I did, it was better to spare him that.’

A silence descends for some moments, before Faith chirps up once more.

‘So, how did you end up working here?’ she asks Christine, her voice slicing through the quiet.

Christine pushes her fingers through her hair, and reaches for her glasses. Puts them on. ‘It was a while back. I’d closed the shop for the final time; was planning to sell up and move away, maybe join my son in France, when a leaflet came through my door. I’m guessing it went to all the residents of Dunwold. It was about the hotel opening the following October. They were advertising for a general manager.’

‘And you applied?’

Christine nods. ‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. The money was amazing. So I came over for an interview with Cameron Patterson. But when I got here there were only painters and decorators on the premises – nice group of Eastern European chaps. They showed me round, and I was sold on taking the position, should I be offered it. Later Cameron emailed apologising that he’d got stuck in traffic, and after an email exchange, he said I was perfect for the position.’

‘Just like that?’ Alice says, her eyes widening. ‘Didn’t you think it was a bit odd? I mean where was Cameron that day? Where is he now?’

‘To be honest, I didn’t think anything of it at the time,’ Christine says. ‘I’d managed a shop for years, had a pilot licence for the boat. He said I was just what he was looking for.’ She looks about her. ‘But I don’t know anymore.’ She shakes her head. ‘What with everything that’s happened—’