‘Jolly neighbourly of you to allow us to share your table,’ her husband added.

Both Penze-Weedells were in an increasingly exuberant mood, having demolished the bottle of prosecco and now well into a bottle of red wine – which seemed, to Jason and Emily, unlikely to be the only one they would be getting through during their lunch.

‘You must come and have drinks with us on Christmas morning!’ Claudette said.

‘A bit difficult, but thank you,’ Jason said. ‘We have relatives with us.’

‘Bring them too!’ her husband slurred.

‘We’ll catch up soon after,’ Jason promised.

‘Boxing Day!’ she said. ‘We insist. Drinks on Boxing Day. Midday, chez nous!’

‘That would be lovely,’ Emily replied, ignoring the gentle kick under the table from her husband.

‘Oh, there is one thing that might be of interest,’ Claudette said. ‘To you both. A little precaution.’

‘Precaution?’ Jason queried.

‘Yes, yes indeed.’ She looked at her husband then went on. ‘Maurice and I were under the impression – or should I say, were led to believe – that we were the very first residents of Cold Hill Park.’ She looked hard at Jason then Emily. ‘But we weren’t.’

‘No?’ Emily said.

‘No,’ she said. For the first time, she looked solemn. ‘Apparently, there were three couples who had moved in before us – a few of months earlier. Two just around the corner from us in Copse Walk, and one, with a young family, in 34 Lakeview Drive, that rather ugly little house next to us – right opposite you.’

Jason turned to Emily. ‘See, I told you I’d seen people in that house.’

‘I don’t think so, Jason – you don’t mind me calling you Jason?’

‘Of course not, Claudette.’ He smiled. ‘What do you mean you don’t think so?’

‘I don’t think you could have seen people in that house,’ she went on and looked to her husband for confirmation. He nodded, distantly.

‘I’ve seen them a couple of times; I waved to them, they waved back.’

She shook her head, vigorously. ‘It’s quite horrible – just one of those terrible coincidences that happen in life sometimes. Over the space of two months, all three couples were killed in accidents while on holiday.’

‘What?’ Emily said.

‘We only found out after we moved in. We’re not planning any holiday soon, I can tell you.’

25

Sunday 16 December

At the bar, Jason handed his credit card over to the landlord, noticing that the oddball old man with the goatee beard, who had said something about a digger, had gone, leaving just Albert Fears seated there with his tankard.

As he waited for Beeson’s hand-held card reader to get a connection, the old farmer turned and peered at him. ‘Young man, aren’t you?’

‘Not that young,’ he replied, aware that Emily was looking away, studiously ignoring Fears.

‘Oh? Let me take a guess. Thirty-five?’

‘Very flattering of you, I’m thirty-nine.’

He noticed the landlord shooting him a glance as he said it.