Belinda glanced at me in amusement. “Come on, old thing. We’re breaking the rules.” We came out, back into the blustery night, went around to the side of the pub and entered through a side door to find ourselves on the other side of the same bar, but in a much less pleasant room. There were several leather armchairs with small glass-topped tables and no fire in the fireplace. One anemic light bulb hung from the ceiling. It was about as unwelcoming as any room could be. Belinda strode up to the bar. I followed. The barmaid turned away from the men and came across to us. “Found it all right, then?” she asked. “Now what will it be?”

“What food do you have?” Belinda said. “We’d like a meal, please.”

“Oh no. We don’t do food here, miss. Only in the summer for the tourists,” she said.

“Is there anywhere else nearby?” I asked. My stomach was now growling with hunger.

The woman considered this, then shook her head. Her several chins wobbled. “Nothing closer than Wadebridge, I wouldn’t reckon. We only cater to local folks and they get their suppers at home. You’d be better off going around the Camel and into Padstow. They cater to outsiders there so I’ve heard.”

“How far away is that?” I asked.

“Well, if you’re driving a motor car you have to go around the estuary, don’t you? Until there’s a bridge. I reckon it’s at least ten miles.”

I gave Belinda a despairing glance.

“So you have no food at all you could find for us? We’ve been driving all day and we’re really hungry.”

“I’ve pasties you can have,” she said reluctantly. “I always make a couple extra in case my man gets hungry between meals. He’s a prodigious healthy appetite has Mr. Trevelean. No doubt I could warm a couple up for you in the oven if you don’t mind waiting.”

“That would be marvelous,” Belinda said. “Thank you so much. And a couple of pints of cider, please.”

The woman pulled these effortlessly, putting the big glasses on the bar. “That will be three shillings, my lovey,” she said.

Belinda paid her.

“You are visiting these parts, then?” the landlady asked.

“We are. I’ve just inherited a house near here,” Belinda said. “White Sails. Do you know it?”

“Can’t say I do,” the woman said. “People give their houses all kinds of fancy names these days, don’t they?”

“It’s on the coast past Little Rumps,” Belinda said. “But we’d rather wait until the morning before we take a look at it. Do you happen to have a room for the night?”

“Room for the night?” The woman behind the bar now looked as if we had just asked her if she ran a brothel.