“I work here. And you are trespassing.”

“You work here? Really?”

“Yes. Really. Now I must ask you to leave.”

“Oh come on, Jago. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Belinda said. “I only want to let Georgie get a glimpse of my old house.”

“She’s had a glimpse,” Jago said. “Now I’m afraid you should go. The owner is rather paranoid about anyone on the property. How did you get in anyway?”

“Along the rocks, like we used to,” Belinda said.

Jago rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you a little old for such things these days? The tide comes in quickly, you know. You’ll find yourself cut off.”

“We can manage it perfectly well, thank you.”

“Only if you head back right away.” He paused, then sighed. “Very well. I suppose I should take pity on you and let you out through the gate. I wouldn’t like two bodies to be on my conscience.”

He set off at a brisk pace around the building. We had to break into a trot to keep up with him. “I’m sorry,” Belinda said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“It’s all right. There is nobody here but me,” Jago answered. “But you’re lucky. The owner is thinking of installing some of his art collection. Some pretty valuable paintings from his villa in the South of France. And he’s suggesting we keep watchdogs.”

We came around to the front of the house. Here there were charming formal gardens. Lines of rosebushes were neatly pruned back for the winter. Holly bushes were already showing some red berries, but otherwise there was no color at this time of year.

“You should see it when the lilac is out on those bushes in the spring,” Belinda said to me. “And the daffodils all over the woods.”

“It’s a treat, isn’t it?” Jago looked back at her and smiled agreement.

“The gardens still look good,” Belinda said. “Does he not have gardeners living on the premises?”

“No. They don’t live in. We have a team coming once a week in the winter. There’s not that much to do. And no resident housekeeper either.”

“And you keep an eye on the place, do you?”

“That sort of thing,” he said. He struck out through the woodland at the front of the estate, and then instead of going to the big iron gates, he went up to the wall and opened a small door, half concealed by ivy.

“I never knew this existed,” Belinda said.

“It didn’t. The boss had it put in, so that the main gate doesn’t have to be opened when people like me go in and out.” He stood back to let us through. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t show you the house but . . .”