Locating the second pair, I bring the soiled ones downstairs via the far stairway. If I leave them by the sink in the kitchen, I will remember to deal with them tomorrow. Muffled footsteps sound on the path outside by the woodshed. I glance up to see someone in a pair of black trousers walking away. Dropping the gloves, I head to the back door and slip off my shoes. A squeak comes from the larder behind me. Diana is standing rigid, pressed against the counter. I put my finger to my lips, she nods, and I point up. She races off. Only then do I head out the back door. Something isn’t right.

The faint scent of cigar smoke fills the air. The grass is already damp with dew as I walk on the edge of the path. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. But it didn’t seem right that someone, or probably more than one person, had walked out of this door of the house. Most of my guests are standing on the lawn at the front or dancing in the smoking room.

It is said that curiosity killed the cat and I have no intention of getting killed but I am questioning and unsettled. I know why Diana was in the larder. She had chocolate all over her face but why was her face ashen under the mess? I should have asked what she’d seen, but sound carries and that would have alerted whoever it was to our presence. And I knew in my gut that I didn’t want anyone to know that Diana had seen anything. As always, the fewer people who knew, the better.

My eyes adjust to the darkness and the small amount of light from the young moon helps me to pick my way through the garden. The sound of the footsteps continues along the top path and I catch sight of two shadows close together. I hide behind a tree, grateful I’m not wearing white unlike the dinner jacket on the American. He is one of the men, for I am certain now it is two men.

They turn and head to the gate that leads out onto the coastal path. I wait, listening but other than the scrape of the bolt on the gate, I hear nothing for they aren’t talking. My heartbeat sounds loud in my ears, vying with the waves reaching the beach below. Once the gate is closed, I dash and try to see which direction they went. This is not normal behaviour. If this American wants to talk business, there is no need to slope off out the back door. My mouth dries. Trust your instincts, I tell myself because as of today, there is no one else I can trust.