The following week, Sunday and Tom finally visited the Dawes family in the nearby village of Witherley, and when they turned into the drive leading to their home they were very pleasantly surprised. A large sign announced THE GABLES, with an arrow pointing the way.

‘Why, it’s almost as big as Treetops,’ Sunday commented. ‘I didn’t expect anything quite so grand.’

Tom nodded as he steered the car along the drive beneath a canopy of leafless trees. ‘Well, everyone knows that Victor Dawes is a wealthy businessman so it stands to reason that he’s going to have a nice house.’

And it was a nice house. A large, rambling redbrick building, it was covered in a profusion of ivy and Virginia creeper, which made it look welcoming. The large windows on either side of the impressive front doors were glinting in the early-morning sunshine and the grounds surrounding it looked extensive.

When Tom had parked the car, the couple ascended the steps leading to the front door, which was opened almost immediately by a fresh-faced, fair-haired young maid in a starched white apron and cap. She had obviously been told to expect them.

‘Mr and Mrs Branning?’ she asked with a nervous smile.

When Tom and Sunday nodded, she ushered them into the hall out of the cold, saying, ‘The master and mistress are expecting you.’ She then helped them off with their hats and coats and after hanging them up, went on, ‘They told me to show you straight into the drawing room. Would you come this way, please?’

They followed her along a corridor that smelled of beeswax polish. Everything Sunday looked at was gleaming with not a single thing out of place and she couldn’t help grinning to herself. It was certainly a far cry from Treetops, which was lovely but very much lived-in.

Once the maid had announced them and shown them into the drawing room, Mr and Mrs Dawes rose to greet them. Mrs Dawes was clearly anxious about the visit and flitted about the room like a butterfly, plumping up the cushions on the chairs and rearranging the expensive-looking china ornaments on the shelf.

‘I’m sure you’ll find our home is suitable for a child,’ she gabbled, and Sunday smiled at her.

‘You have a beautiful house,’ she said in an attempt to put her at ease.

Mrs Dawes rang the bell for the maid. ‘We’ll have tea before I show you around, shall we?’ she twittered.

Once Mrs Dawes had placed the order and the maid had gone away again, Sunday commented, ‘Your house is so immaculate. Are you sure you won’t mind a child messing it up? I’m afraid all our children are very untidy. It’s quite usual for us to find toys scattered everywhere and in the most unlikely of places.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all,’ Mrs Dawes said immediately.

An awkward silence followed until the maid returned with the tea. Mrs Dawes poured them all a cup, and when they’d finished she asked, ‘Would you like to see the room the child would sleep in now?’