Mitch picks up his glass with his yellowing fingers, and drains the remnants of his brandy. ‘I was meant to take part in a zombie battle this weekend, but I didn’t mind missing it for Faith … and all of this.’ He looks about him, seeming impressed by the surroundings.

Alice looks over at Faith who is filling a tray with glasses. She can’t help wonder, not for the first time, what she’s sees in this man.

The conversation moves on, and Leon, pushing his fingers through his fair hair, tells Mitch that he’s a fantasy writer, hoping to be published one day.

Their words fade, as Alice’s mind drifts, searching for memories. She’s never been able to recall anything further back than the age of six or seven – not helped by her father’s silence on the subject, but now she feels sure this place holds the key to unlocking the secrets of her past – her father’s past. Yet there’s something inside of her that’s crying out to leave things be – not to go on.

‘That was hard work,’ Faith says, tugging Alice from her thoughts, approaching with drinks clanking on a silver tray. Clearly struggling to walk in her heels. ‘The girl behind the bar is barely old enough to serve us, and doesn’t speak a word of English. Eastern European I think. And she’s a right grumpy cow too.’ She puts the tray down, and turns to a woman coming up behind her. ‘Guys, meet Lori.’

It’s the woman who was sitting by the fire earlier reading Alice’s father’s book. ‘She was pretty bored on her own,’ Faith goes on. ‘So I invited her to join us. Hope that’s cool with everyone.’

They chorus greetings, followed by a round of introductions. The woman grabs a stool, and, folding her flowing satin dress under her, sits down next to Alice, picks up a glass of Prosecco from the tray of drinks, and takes a sip.

‘Faith said you lost your phone,’ Alice says, as a conversation breaker, taking in, once more, the woman’s mane of dark hair draped over one shoulder, her sharp nose, her dark eyes. She’s attractive, slim, like an ageing film star.

Lori takes another sip of her drink, and nods. ‘It’s a mystery, really. I left my cell on the table when I went to the bathroom last night, and when I got back it was gone.’ She’s softly spoken, American, with a confident air. ‘I shouldn’t have left it unattended, I suppose. But you really don’t expect anyone to take it in a place like this.’

‘You’re from the US,’ Alice says.

Lori smiles, teeth white, lips plump, as though she may have had work done. ‘What gave it away?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’