‘It’s not Fort Knox,’ she said, when she begged me to help her. ‘I don’t think it’d be difficult to break into his office. But he’s been working from home for the last few weeks and there’s no way I can get into his study while he’s here. If I can come up with a reason to get him out of the house, you could be in and out without him ever knowing.’

She had no idea she was tapping into my particular skill set, of course. It was just serendipity.

‘What do you need me to find?’ I asked.

‘The deeds to the house,’ Stacey said. ‘The bank sent them to us when we paid off the mortgage four years ago, but I don’t know what Felix has done with them. I can’t sell the house without them.’

‘The Land Registry must have a digital copy,’ I said.

‘We can apply for one but the backlog has been ridiculous ever since Covid. It could take months. I need the deeds, Millie,’ Stacey said urgently, her hand tightening on mine as she reached across the kitchen island. ‘I’ll never be able to get away from him if I can’t sell the house.’

It takes me less than a minute to break into Felix’s office. His study is far messier than I remember from my initial tour of the house. Several lever arch files lie open on the slab of glass that serves as his desk. Others have been hastily and unevenly shoved back into place on the shelves behind it. The wastepaper bin is overflowing, crumpled paper spilling onto the floor. Beside it, a shredder is so full it’s jammed. The room looks as if it’s been ransacked by MI5. How can a man this controlling in his personal life be so disorganised?

I skim the business files on his desk, and then turn my attention to the filing cabinet in the corner. It’s unlocked: the top drawer contains an empty bottle of Scotch that rolls towards me with a clang when I open it. The rest is filled with folders from Copper Beech. I rifle through them, but there’s nothing personal there.

I’m not worried about getting caught – Stacey’s taken Felix and their son to a lunch with friends in Cheltenham, so I have plenty of time – but I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to. This is business, not pleasure.

I pick up a painted rock emblazoned with the word daDdy in red paint, and toss it idly from hand to hand. If I wanted to hide important documents, where would I put them?

Felix doesn’t have a safe. There are no drawers attached to his minimalist glass desk. No other cupboards or cabinets in the room. Where does he keep his pencils and paperclips, for God’s sake?