‘Tom and Aurelia bought land in Norway. They intended to build a holiday home, but during the construction period, Aurelia … passed.’ I saw her pale eyes moisten, and I realized she must have been close to this woman. I’d spotted a photo on top of the glass cabinet in the hallway of a woman with long, wheat-blonde hair grinning at the camera with an arm wrapped around a little girl of about four. Was that Aurelia? It must be.

‘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 …’