“Won’t he be interviewing us?” asked Dean.

“He’ll be in London. He operates there on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Miss Cressett and Sister Holland will be interviewing you. Mr. Chandler-Powell doesn’t bother himself with domestic matters. Satisfy the women and you’re in. If not, pack your bags and you’re out.”

It had not been a promising beginning, and on first sight even the beauty of the Manor, standing silent and silvery in the summer sun, was more intimidating than reassuring. Mogworthy left them at the front door, merely pointing at the bell, then returned to the Range Rover and drove it round the east wing of the house. Resolutely Dean tugged on the iron bell-pull. They heard no sound, but within half a minute the door opened and they saw a young woman. She had shoulder-length blond hair, which Dean thought looked none too clean and heavily applied lipstick. She wore jeans beneath a coloured apron. He put her down as someone from the village who helped out, a first impression which proved right. She regarded them with some distaste for a moment, then said, “I’m Maisie. Miss Cressett said I’m to give you tea in the great hall.”

Now, recalling the arrival, Dean was surprised that he had become so used to the magnificence of the great hall. He could understand now how people who owned such a house could get used to its beauty, could move confidently down its corridors and through its rooms, hardly noticing the pictures and artefacts, the richness which surrounded them. He smiled, remembering how, after asking if they could wash their hands, they had been led through the hall to a room at the back which was obviously a lavatory and washroom. Maisie had disappeared, and he waited outside while Kim went in first.

Three minutes later, she was out, eyes wide with surprise, saying in a whisper, “It’s so strange. The lavatory bowl is painted inside. It’s all blue, with flowers and foliage. And the seat is huge—it’s mahogany. And there’s no proper flush at all. You have to pull on a chain, like you do in my gran’s loo. The wallpaper’s lovely, though, and there are lots of towels. I didn’t know which to use. Expensive soap, too. Hurry up, darling. I don’t want to be left alone. Do you suppose the loo is as old as the house? It must be.”

“No,” he said, wanting to demonstrate superior knowledge, “there wouldn’t have been any lavatories when this house was built, not like that anyway. It sounds more Victorian. Early-nineteenth-century, I’d say.”

He spoke with a confidence he didn’t feel, determined not to let the Manor intimidate him. It was to him Kim looked for reassurance and support. He mustn’t show that he needed them himself.

Returning to the hallway, they found Maisie at the door of the great hall. She said, “Your tea’s in here. I’ll come back in a quarter of an hour and take you to the office.”