Cleo hugged her back. “I really don’t mind—” she started to say, but Lucy interrupted.

“I know, and it’s lovely of you, but you came to see me in hospital plenty of times and you yourself said that this is your first day off in ages, so go and enjoy it.” She let Cleo go and smiled at her. “You’ve been a rock, Cleo, and I love you for it, but you deserve a break too, not least from my bad temper.”

“You’ll get over it,” Cleo said, then seeing Lucy’s face, “Oops, sorry, I’m being insensitive again, aren’t I?”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Lucy said, smiling. “I’ll get there in time.”

Her heart ached though as she watched Cleo drive off in her little Mini. She felt lonely. She wished she’d thought to hire a car; living in London she never really needed one but it would be useful for getting about here. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that there wouldn’t be shops, or a bus service right outside the door. It was stupid of her, when she knew Knightstone was very rural and that services like post offices and transport had been cut to villages like this, but she hadn’t really been thinking clearly when she’d agreed to come to the village. Plus she knew deep down she’d secretly been hoping that it would only be for a couple of weeks, until she was better and could go back to work...

The dust motes danced in the sunshine as she slowly climbed the stairs to the bedroom. It seemed ridiculous to have a nap when she’d only been awake for a couple of hours, but the heat of the day and the sudden enforced relaxation was making her feel incredibly sleepy. She lay down on the four-poster and almost immediately drifted off.

It was as though the dream had been waiting for her. She wore the same Tudor gown and the same slippers as she had before; she was seeing through Catherine’s eyes again. This time she was inside a house. She stood in a long gallery, the wooden floor smooth and slightly uneven beneath her feet, the low sun cutting through the mullioned window to cast long shadows and gild the thick cobwebs that hung from the sconces. There were paler patches on the walls where paintings had been, or perhaps tapestries. Dust thicker than a blanket smothered everything. When she took a step forward, clouds of it rose and made her sneeze. She left footprints in it like snow.

There was a sense of panic tight in her chest. Down the stairs she ran, careless of safety. She knew she was looking for something, or someone. Yet she also knew that the house was empty, dead, and had been for some time. It was soundless. No one was there. Her anxiety increased. She had to find him. She had to find Robert.

At the bottom of the stairs was a narrow stone-paved corridor. She ran to the door at the end, throwing it wide. The view that met her gaze gave her a shock. Winter had come to the silent house, cloaking it in frost. The dead strands of the climbing rose glittered white in the cold sun, a tangled barrier almost blocking the doorway. Beyond that, the uneven stone path that ran down to the gate was thick with snow, each shard shining with a crystal beauty that was both beautiful and chilling.