Andy smoothed down the hairs of his greying moustache and observed the younger man in a friendly fashion while Christian-Louis slid the tray of créme brûlée through a service hatch to the dining room. He said, “Maintenant, on en a fini pour ce soir” and began removing the white apron that was stained with the evenings sauces. As the Frenchman disappeared into a small changing room, Andy said, “Vive la France” wryly and rolled his eyes. Then to Julian, “Join us for a coffee? We've one group left in the dining room and everyone else in the lounge for the after-dinners.”

“Any residents tonight?” Julian asked. An old Victorian lodge once used as a hunting retreat by a branch of the Saxe-Coburg family, Maiden Hall had ten bedrooms. All had been individually decorated by Andy's wife when the Maidens had made their escape from London a decade previously; eight were let out to discerning travelers who wanted the privacy of a hotel combined with the intimacy of a home.

“Fully booked,” Andy replied. “We've had a record summer, what with the fine weather. So what's it to be? Coffee? Brandy? How's your dad, by the way?”

Julian winced inwardly at the mental association implied in Andy's words. Doubtless the whole blasted county paired his father with one type of booze or another. “Nothing for me,” he said. “I've come for Nicola.”

“Nicola? Why, she isn't here, Julian.”

“Not here? She's not left Derbyshire already, has she? Because she said-”

“No, no.” Andy began storing the kitchen knives in a wooden stand, sliding them into slots with a neat snick as he continued talking. “She's gone camping. Didn't she tell you? She set out mid-morning yesterday.”

“But I spoke to her…” Julian thought back, reaching for a time. “Early yesterday morning. She wouldn't have forgotten that quickly.”

“Looks like she has. Women, you know. What did you two have on?”

Julian sidestepped the question. “Did she go alone?”