‘He works here on a voluntary basis, when he can. Gardener, handyman, courier, just whatever needs doing to keep the place shipshape. He was in the army. Kind of bloke who could demolish a shed for you in the morning, then use the parts to build a bridge in the afternoon. I don’t know how we ever managed without him, to be honest, though we still have to at times. He’s often away, out of the country.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Work.’

Jasmine wondered whether it was worth probing for a more specific answer, unable to decide whether Rita was being vague because she didn’t know or because she wouldn’t say.

She heard an interior door open somewhere beyond the kitchen, then close again a couple of seconds later.

‘They won’t come out until you’re gone,’ Rita said, lifting mugs from a shelf. Jasmine was simultaneously expectant and apprehensive to count three. ‘They don’t want anyone to see they’re here in case it gets back to the people they’re trying to escape from. We take every precaution, but it’s not fail-safe. People let things slip, or they trust the wrong person with information. We’ve had quite a few husbands and partners turn up here over the years, and it’s very distressing, not just for the women concerned. It shatters the sense of security for everybody.’

‘What do you do then?’

‘We have to call the police.’

She made this sound more trouble than it was worth.

‘They warn the blokes off, escort them from the premises, but they come back. Once they know their wives or partners are here, they always come back. Except when Mr Ingrams is available,’ she added, arching her eyebrows. ‘When he warns them off, they never come back.’

Jasmine heard the buzzing sound cease outside as Rita poured hot water into a capacious and seasoned-looking teapot. She had just set it on a low heat upon a gas hob when the back door opened and Ingrams came in. He was dressed in dark green camo pants and a sleeveless black T-shirt, a pair of protective goggles fixed around his eyes by an elasticated strap. He had an unmistakably military bearing about him: tall, toned and muscular, his skin tanned and weathered, indicative of spending a lot of time outdoors in warmer climates.

He took the goggles off as he tugged the door closed, which was when he appeared to notice that Rita had a visitor. He fixed Jasmine with a stare from the doorway that made McDade’s gaze seem like an ambient mood light by comparison. It was a look so deeply scrutinising that she felt pinned to her chair by it until he looked away again, glancing to Rita for explanation. He seemed discomfited by the sight of this new presence, but Jasmine guessed that this was his default position regarding strangers here until Rita vouched for them.