‘So did Mrs Haverleigh’s son say anything else about the intruder?’ I say, watching as Georgie takes a bottle of white wine out of the fridge and places it on the counter. ‘Did they get a description of him?’

‘Only from what Mrs Haverleigh said she saw,’ says Georgie, taking two glass goblets from the pale-green French cabinet. ‘And as Jack says, she’s not the most reliable of witnesses.’

‘What did she see?’ I ask, taking a packet of pasta from the top shelf.

‘She said it was a man, medium build, and wearing some sort of hat,’ says Georgie, visibly shuddering as she pours the wine. ‘It’s a horrible thought, that someone could be prowling around like that. Let’s hope it was just a figment of Mrs Haverleigh’s imagination.’

She takes a long glug of wine and pulls a dining chair over to the open French doors. I can’t help thinking we would all feel safer if she would just close them. As I look at Georgie sitting there, her blue linen skirt billowing slightly in the evening breeze, I get a flashback to Holly Maze House: Geoffrey standing by the open windows, his face almost obscured by the light of the sun.

‘I’m making penne arrabbiata for supper,’ I say, trying to erase the image, and everything it represents, from my mind. ‘I’m just hoping we’ve got enough basil.’

‘Sounds delicious, thanks, Nessa,’ says Georgie. ‘There should be a bunch of basil in the fridge but if not I can go and pick some from the garden pots.’

A feeling of guilt sweeps through me as I walk over to the fridge. I should be contributing more, paying my way. I make a mental note to place an online grocery order in the morning.

I open the fridge and find two large bunches of basil. I take one, along with an onion, three cloves of garlic and three red chillies, and bring them over to the chopping board.

‘More than enough basil,’ I say to Georgie as I start chopping onions. ‘No need to go out there.’

Behind me I hear her pour another glass of wine.

‘I was thinking about Lottie earlier,’ she says, coming over to stand by me as I chop. ‘Do you think that was her you saw in the village?’

‘It certainly looked like her,’ I say as I press the back of Jack’s expensive Kitchen Devil knife down on to a fat clove of garlic. ‘Though it probably wasn’t. The sun was in my eyes and then that daft guy jumped out at us.’

‘Oh yeah, the pantomime horse,’ says Georgie, taking a slice of raw onion from the chopping board and popping it in her mouth. ‘The things people do for money. It beggars belief. Why don’t you give Lottie a call? See if it was her.’