The Shepherds were, Kate thought, unlikely proprietors of a B and B. In her occasional experience of these useful stopping places, she had recognised a number of characteristics the proprietors held in common. She found them friendly, sometimes gregarious, fond of meeting new people, house-proud, ready with helpful information about the area and its attractions and—in defiance of contemporary warnings about cholesterol—providers in chief of the full English breakfast at its best. And surely their hosts were older than most people who coped with the hard work of catering for a succession of visitors. They were both tall, Mrs. Shepherd the taller, and perhaps looked older than their years. Their mild but wary eyes were unclouded, their handshakes firm, and they moved with none of the stiffness of old age. Mr. Shepherd, with his thick white hair cut in a fringe above steel-rimmed spectacles, looked like a benign edition of the self-portrait of Stanley Spencer. His wife’s hair, less thick and now steel grey, was twisted into a long thin plait and secured at the top of her head by two combs. Their voices were remarkably similar, an un-self-conscious distinctive upper-class accent which can so irritate those not in possession of it, and which, Kate told herself, would effectively have banned them from any hope of a job at the BBC or even a career in politics, had either unlikely option appealed to them.

Kate’s bedroom held everything necessary for a comfortable night and nothing superfluous. She guessed that Benton’s room next door was probably identical. Two single beds side by side were covered with immaculate white counterpanes, the bedside lamps were modern to facilitate reading and there was a two-drawer chest and a small wardrobe provided with wooden hangers. The bathroom had no bath but a shower, which a preliminary turn of the taps showed to be efficient. The soap was unscented but expensive, and on opening the bathroom cabinet she saw that it was equipped with the necessary items which some visitors might have neglected to pack: toothbrush in a cellophane cover, toothpaste, shampoo and shower gel. As an early riser, Kate regretted the absence of a kettle and other facilities for brewing morning tea, but a small notice on the chest of drawers informed her that tea could be brought up at any time between six and nine on request, although newspapers wouldn’t be delivered until eight-thirty.

She exchanged her shirt for one freshly laundered, drew on a cashmere pullover and, picking up her jacket, joined Benton in the hall.