‘Oh. Of course.’ He runs his hand through his hair before standing to one side and ushering me in. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m running a bit behind this morning. You can see why I need a housekeeper.’ His mouth tugs up into a small smile and I let out a laugh.

‘It happens to the best of us.’ I follow him along a light, airy hallway into the kitchen, and have to resist the urge to let my mouth hang open. It is huge. It’s also untidy, with mugs and dishes in the sink, a dying houseplant on top of the fridge and an overflowing bin.

‘Sorry about the mess.’ Rupert looks a bit sheepish, and I smother another smile.

‘Well, isn’t that what I’m here for?’ I discreetly run my eyes over the kitchen, over the thin layer of dust that sits on the counter top, the pile of post that has been shoved to one side.

‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ Rupert is already rummaging in the cupboard above the kettle for mugs. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ I say yes to both, and wait as he fills the kettle, water splashing over his shirt as he turns the tap on too high.

‘Can I get the milk?’ I ask, as he swipes ineffectually at the damp patches with a tea towel, but when I open the fridge, the shelf is bare. ‘Black is fine,’ I say with a smile, my nerves dissipating as I see that Rupert is possibly just as nervous as I am. ‘Here, shall I finish this off while you get dry?’ I reach for the now boiling kettle as Rupert scrubs at the fabric of his shirt.

‘So, Emily, I suppose I should actually interview you, not just let you make me tea.’ Rupert smiles as I pass him a mug. ‘Why did you apply for this job? You’re not really what I was expecting.’

‘Really?’ I turn to him. ‘What were you expecting?’

‘Well, someone more… Mrs Danvers, I suppose. Or Mrs Doubtfire.’

My heart skips in my chest. Not only is Rupert easy on the eye, but he reads too. I choose to ignore the reference to Mrs Doubtfire. ‘I’m definitely not Mrs Danvers. I suppose I’m just looking for something different. I’ve had a bit of… bad luck, I guess you could say, so I’m trying to turn things around.’ I wrap my cold fingers around the warm mug, staring at the dark tannin patches left on the china by the black tea, buying myself a few seconds. ‘This seemed like the perfect job for me, right now.’

‘You’re certainly making a good impression,’ Rupert says, with a quirk of his eyebrows. ‘Can I show you the rest of the house?’