Angela had made it quite clear from the outset that their relationship was purely professional – she had no intention of becoming housekeeper, cook or surrogate wife. The obvious answer was for her to find somewhere to live nearby, but this seemed ridiculous with such a large house available, especially as their finances were already stretched. After spending the first few nights in a bed and breakfast in Tintern Parva, the nearest village, Angela rebelled at the ongoing cost and inconvenience.

‘I’m moving in to the middle bedroom,’ she announced, arriving with her cases in the back of her white Renault Dauphine. ‘The village gossips can call me the scarlet woman from London if they like, but it’s crazy to leave a big house like this half empty. As soon as we can afford it, we’ll divide it properly into two flats.’

Garth House now belonged to both of them, as they had set up a limited company for their venture, he putting in the house and Angela the proceeds of the sale of her flat. As the courteous Richard had lugged her cases upstairs, he had wondered how this was going to work out. Were there locks on the bedroom doors, for instance?

‘But I’m not cooking or cleaning, remember,’ she called up after him. ‘We’ll have to camp out for a bit, until we sort out some more permanent arrangement.’

So far, their lifestyle had been spartan, with Shredded Wheat and Typhoo Tips for breakfast, a sandwich lunch and usually something from a tin as supper. Sometimes they splashed out on an evening meal in a café at Chepstow or Monmouth, the towns at each end of the famous winding valley with its steep, wooded sides.