‘Indeed.’ The feeding is the least of my worries as I sketch the table again and mark it with twenty place settings. With eighteen it had worked. I’d made sure the vicar – who was hard of hearing in his right ear –was seated next to Allan’s godmother, as she spoke as if she were controlling fractious children in the nursery. I suspect she regards us all as children in one way or another. On my left I’d placed the lovely Eddie Carew to make sure the conversation flowed at the end of the table. Now I am faced with placing these two strangers, not knowing a thing about them except that Allan has taken a shine to them and they are from the Midwest. I nibble the top of the pencil and Mrs Hoskine gives me one of her looks. Although younger than me, she is wiser and so like her mother. Her mother’s death at the same time as mine hit me much harder than my own had. I put the pencil down and she resumes sorting the vegetables.

The Venns. I close my eyes thinking about them. Something isn’t right. Their accent possibly? The wife of the political attaché at the US Embassy was from Chicago, born and bred, and there was no resemblance to the Venns’ pronunciation of the most basic of words. Shutting down that train of thought, I return to focusing on balancing the needs of my guests that I do know. But it just wouldn’t come. I glance up. ‘Mrs Hoskine, have you heard anything about the people who rented Penweathers?’

She dries her hands on a tea-towel before she speaks. ‘No, but I had heard that the place was rented, and it all happened very quickly.’ She looks at the notebook, running a finger over their names. ‘Venns, you say? English?’

‘No, American.’

She raises her brows. ‘Interesting. I did hear that they weren’t looking for any help, which is odd.’

Sitting back in the chair, I tilt my head to the side.

‘Don’t seem right, not with a house of that size and with no one having lived in it since the war.’

I shudder. Wood lice, spiders, damp . . . a house so close to the sea needs more attention, not less. I know this. Ever since my mother died and Boskenna came to me, it has been a constant battle to stay ahead of repairs brought on by the position, the weather and the age of the house.

‘What do they look like?’

I snort. ‘Tall, handsome, athletic and entirely too clean.’

‘Sounds about right, thinking of the GIs we had here abouts.’

‘True, but this couple aren’t like the troops, not at all.’ I still can’t quite pinpoint what it is that makes the Venns different but there is something. Normally reading people is easy for me. Sleep deprivation is clouding my thinking.