‘Aurelia adored her girls,’ Maren continued in a sad voice. ‘They meant everything to her. Part of the reason for the summer home was so that she could cultivate friluftsliv—’

‘Oh, friluftsliv,’ I said, because of course.

‘—this is the Norwegian itch for the outdoors,’ Maren explained. ‘Aurelia wished to give her daughters the kind of summers that she had enjoyed as a child, always out in nature, and connect them to their heritage …’ She wanted to say more but suddenly couldn’t, her words winnowed by grief. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. ‘And now,’ she said in a stronger voice, clearing her throat, ‘the build must recommence, but Tom is anxious to be on site for its duration and requires the children and nanny to be with him. I’m Tom’s housekeeper, and I’ll also be there.’ She stuffed the hankie up her sleeve and turned to me with shining eyes, the memory of Aurelia evidently filed away in her mind so that normal service could resume.

‘The job will require you to be with the children on site on a full-time basis,’ she said, ‘at least until March. Is that a problem?’ Her eyes searched my fingers for any sign of a ring. ‘No … partner who’ll want you home for Christmas?’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘No. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

She frowned at that, but something in her mind told her that this was the answer she wanted and she moved on. ‘Well, your reference was glowing, of course. Tom only sent the application pack to a selection of trusted associates – we don’t use recruitment agencies or anything like that – so we were delighted when Verity championed you.’

She was beaming now, and my face contorted into a rictus grin while my mind did somersaults. Verity?

‘Oh, Verity,’ I said lightly. ‘She’s … that’s so kind …’

Maren batted her hand in the air as though I was being modest, not clueless. ‘Of course she championed you. And what happened in Belgium …’

I gave a nervous giggle and eyed the door. What happened in Belgium? I wanted to shriek. It was abundantly, sharply clear now that I was way out of my depth. It was wrong to lie to a family who’d lost their mother. It was wrong to parade as something that I wasn’t, despite how desperate I was. I placed a foot on the floor and lifted my hips off the chair, preparing myself to sprint the hell out of there.

‘Hello?’ a man’s voice called. I looked up and saw a figure in the French doors, silhouetted by celestial afternoon sunlight that was swelling in the garden. A tall, lean man in a smart navy polo shirt and chinos, dark, tousled hair flecked with silver, and a hint of beard. A slightly more upmarket, skinnier Colin Farrell, with rimless glasses and overlapping front teeth. He marched across the room towards me and extended a hand. A gold wedding band flashed in the light. ‘Tom Faraday,’ he said, grinning. ‘You must be Sophie. A pleasure to meet you.’