Christine looks at her screen, and back up at Alice. ‘Room 4.’ She slaps her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my, I probably shouldn’t have told you another guest’s details.’

‘It’s fine. She’s my friend.’

Christine removes her hand. ‘Well, I suppose that’s OK then.’

Alice looks about her. ‘Is the restaurant open?’

‘I can rustle you up something if you’re hungry.’

‘I’m starving,’ Leon says under his breath, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets.

Alice feels his pain. Apart from a bag of crisps, they haven’t eaten since breakfast.

‘Tonight’s film in the lounge is Halloween, and there are TVs and Blu-ray players in every room, with a selection of films for your convenience. And a bookcase too, with books personally chosen by Mr Patterson.’

‘Thanks. That’s great.’ Leon is clearly itching to get away.

Christine flaps her face with her hand, her cheeks pinking further. ‘Sorry hot flush,’ she says. ‘I’m at that age, you see.’ She leans forward and in a hushed whisper adds, ‘I’ve been thrown in the deep end a bit. Mr Patterson has just left me to it.’

Alice glances at Leon, who is picking up his holdall. ‘Well, you seem to be doing just fine,’ she says, slightly irritated by the woman’s repetitive moaning.

‘Well, thank you, I’m doing my best. Ooh, and before I forget,’ she goes on. ‘If you’re interested, Mr Patterson is coming over later to give a tour of the house and a talk about its history. The original owner was a famous magician in the Sixties. In fact, I remember seeing him on television when I was a child. He was an extremely hypnotic character – a bit chilling, in fact. He disappeared mysteriously about forty years ago.’

Leon shifts from foot to foot. Alice knows he’s had enough of this woman, and needs something to eat, or a beer, or both. He seems to have forgotten why they are here, that this is the kind of thing she needs to know. That the tour might help. She picks up her holdall.

‘And the bar is open now,’ Christine continues. ‘It doesn’t close until eleven. And breakfast in the morning is from seven to eleven.’

It’s as though she’s ticking off a ‘tell the guests list’, and sounds hyper and flustered. ‘Enjoy your stay with us at Flynn Hotel,’ she concludes as they turn and head up the stairs.

The landing wallpaper is patterned – a pale pink rose with black thorns. The carpet is a swirl of pink and black. Like the reception area, the narrow corridor is lit by low-voltage wall-lights. There’s another set of stairs leading to a further floor.