They carried on up, clinging to the handrail, lugging their bags. Seventy-two steps, Roy had counted, by the time they reached the top, very out of breath despite his good fitness level. Cleo was breathing heavily, too. ‘Glad I’m not drinking,’ she gasped. ‘Wouldn’t fancy that climb after a few glasses of wine!’

A thick oak door faced them, with a huge brass key sticking out of its ancient lock. He turned the handle, pushed, then pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge.

‘Try unlocking it, darling,’ Cleo said, teasing.

He twisted the key and it stuck, before finally turning with a click as loud as a gunshot. He tried the handle again and pushed hard. The door opened stiffly inwards, making a loud scraping sound. ‘Nothing like making us feel welcome!’ he said.

Cleo shook her head. ‘I can’t believe this place. Haven’t they heard of maintenance?’

Roy put his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. ‘At least we’ve been given the honeymoon suite. We’d better make good use of it!’

‘I’m not sure about Madame,’ she said.

‘She’s not exactly the most charming of hosts.’

‘No, it’s not that. It’s her French.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She gets some words wrong. The first thing she said to us was that she’d prepared lunch for us. La déjeuner, she called it. It should be le déjeuner.’

‘Are you sure?’ Roy said.

‘Yes.’ Cleo frowned. ‘The thing is, no French person would ever get that wrong – they just wouldn’t. And she’s got several other words wrong.’

‘Maybe she isn’t French, darling – perhaps she’s from somewhere else in Europe and it’s her second language.’

‘Perhaps. I’ll ask her later.’

They entered a huge oak-panelled room that was as dimly lit as the hall, even after Roy had turned on all the lights, including the bedside lamps. There were tall windows with chintz drapes and a very high four-poster bed. The polished wooden floorboards were covered with faded Oriental rugs. On the wall facing the bed, beside the door to the en suite bathroom, was a life-size crucifix, with a Christ who was truly in pain. But the view out across the grounds, even in this weather, did have the wow factor.

Cleo had a quick peep into the bathroom. ‘Roy, we must take some photos, this is mad. The bath has to be a hundred years old.’

He followed her in and looked at the enormous tub mounted on feet like lion paws. ‘Room for two!’ he said. ‘We could have a bath together later, with a glass of champagne.’

She patted her swollen belly. ‘I wish.’

Then, peering in at the cracked enamel, with deep-brown stains down the sides, Roy said, ‘On second thoughts, perhaps not.’