She sent Jack a text, it’s lovely, you should have come, before getting out, taking her bags and heading to the hotel. The gravel pathway to the front door crunched underfoot and the creamy blooms on either side danced as she passed. It was all rather perfect.

Inside, a grand entrance lobby held the reception desk and a cantilevered stairway that curved upward, dividing right and left on the first floor and vanishing from sight. Double doors at the back of the entrance lobby lay open and gave a view to a huge glass and brick extension. It was a combination of old and modern that worked well.

‘Molly Chatwell,’ she said to the smiling receptionist. ‘I have a reservation.’ With the formalities completed and declining assistance with her bags, she took the key that was held out, looking at it with pleasure. A proper key, not a key card. ‘Have the Lovells arrived yet?’ she asked, before leaving the desk.

‘Yes, I checked them in myself an hour ago,’ the receptionist said and proceeded to give Molly directions to her room.

Rather than taking the lift as indicated, she took the stairs, admiring the paintings that adorned the walls, a mix of old and contemporary art that shouldn’t have worked but did. It took her a few wrong turns before she finally found her way and stopped outside number twelve. She slipped the key into the lock, turned it and pushed the door open into a large airy room.

It was a corner room, tall sash windows on two sides flooding the room with light. They were partially open, and a slight breeze caused long voile curtains to flutter gently. The décor – pastel shades, floral patterns and frills – was the right side of twee. Molly looked around the room and smiled. It was very nice indeed.

She dropped her bags and wandered over to the window. The room was in a modern extension to the back of the hotel and her breath caught when she saw the beautiful gardens. Immediately below, steps led down from a patio to a pathway that meandered through wide borders to end in front of a fountain. A plume of water, easily seven or eight feet in height, sparkled in the sunshine and danced in the breeze. On each side, a lawn so velvety green she wondered if it were fake, with topiarised boxes at each corner. It was all, she decided, an absolute delight.

At the end, barely visible through the thick shrubbery that surrounded the garden, she could see the glint of sun on water. The canal. She was looking forward to running along it in the morning.