I was respectably turned out in dark slacks, a blazer and a blue business shirt. No tie; I draw the line at ties. I opened the gate and tramped up the steep, central path to a set of steps leading to a wide porch at the front of the house, which had a white stucco finish. The condition of that kind of surface can tell you something, and in this case it told me that the house was well-maintained. No serious flaking. A security screen covered the solid front door. I rang the bell and waited. In a place this size, if she was having her morning tea out the back, it could take a while to get to the front door. Might not even hear the bell.

The door opened and she stood there in the late morning light. Even with my vision impeded by the screen, I could see why Frank was feeling the undertow: Catherine Heysen was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.

'Mr Hardy?'

'Yes.'

She unlocked the security screen. 'Please come in.'

She stepped aside to let me in and then moved swiftly ahead of me down the passage. The quick glimpse I'd caught of her was a total surprise. She had very dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. In a black dress with a couple of fine gold chains around her neck, she looked as Mediterranean as the Isle of Capri. She was medium tall and strongly built and her walk was stately.

I followed her past several rooms off the passage to left and right and through a well-appointed kitchen to a conservatory equipped with cane chairs and a low, glass-topped table. Outside the air was cool and getting cooler as a southerly gained strength, but this space had trapped the weakening sunlight and it was warm. Her gesture for me to sit was balletic, but natural.