‘No indeed. It is a great pleasure to be at the seaside.’

‘I suppose after that pram race you must think we’re all completely barmy?’

A tentative smile lightened his face. ‘You certainly have some curious customs.’

‘You found your way to the Manor okay, then?’ Kath cocked her head towards the mansion so clearly visible from here, high on its cliff at the other side of the river mouth. ‘I see someone’s trying to rival the Eiffel Tower. Is it a new tourist attraction?’

The man took the mug of tea, added a careful half teaspoonful of sugar and stirred it thoroughly. ‘May I take a piece of carrot cake too, please?’

Kath chose the largest slice and laid it onto a paper plate, along with a napkin. ‘That’ll be one and six please, sir.’

‘Thank you, it has been a pleasure, Miss Motts,’ he said, handing her the correct change. ‘But now I must join my colleagues. Good day to you both.’

‘Whatever were you doing, questioning the man like that?’ her mother hissed, when they were out of earshot. ‘You know quite well they’re not allowed to say anything.’

‘How do we know they’re not allowed?’ Kath countered.

‘You’ve seen the signs over there. Top secret, and the rest. And you asking if it was a tourist attraction, for goodness’ sake.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘It’s something they don’t want us to ask about and it’s best if you keep your mouth shut from now on, my girl, or you’ll be getting into trouble. Now help me get this lot packed up; I think we’re done for the day.’

4

‘Cripes, what did you make of those yokels! Grown men in nappies – never seen anything like it,’ Frank Wilkinson chortled as they clambered off the ferry. It would be some years before a proper landing stage was built on either side, so for the moment embarking and disembarking carried the risk of getting your feet wet, especially in rougher weather.

Vic said nothing. He hadn’t really taken to Frank ever since they’d first met at Felixstowe Station. Everyone said he had a brain the size of a planet, but he seemed to have an inflated sense of self-importance to match.

‘You go ahead, I’ll catch up later,’ Vic said. He loved to savour the sights and sounds of the walk up the driveway, the resin smell of the pines as you entered the grounds, the wide green swathe of the cricket pitch. He would usually pause on the humpbacked bridge to listen to the tinkle of the stream they called, for some obscure reason, the River Jordan, watching finches flitting about the bulrushes and keeping an eye out for the kingfisher.

The sight of the Manor coming into view at the top of the slope caught Vic’s breath every time. He’d seen plenty of grand English country houses – his boarding school among them – but this place, a fantastical architectural mix of mock-Tudor, Scottish castle and fairy tale, was the most impressive of the lot.