Davina took a deep breath then picked up a small cushion from the chair beside her and hurled it quite uselessly at the door.

Half an hour later she'd unpacked and was inspecting the main house. There were four bedrooms upstairs, all unusual, interestingly shaped rooms with steep ceilings and window-seats but three of them lacked any linen on the beds or in the en suite bathrooms. Steve Warwick's, which she looked into briefly, was done out in masculine fittings and the colour scheme was cream and green.

Downstairs she discovered that the gleaming kitchen was a cook's dream, with every kind of appliance one could wish for, all looking unused. There was also a breakfast-room-cum-sitting-room, a study that was entirely businesslike and contained a VHF radio, and a den with a television set. The laundry, which held a huge freezer, a shower cubicle and a linen store, was in an annexe-together with the four bicycles. She surveyed them for a long moment, then went back to the kitchen where she made herself a simple meal of scrambled eggs on toast.

Not long afterwards she took herself to bed and, despite the eerie quality of an almost silent night with just one strange bird calling mournfully, fell asleep quickly.

'Ah, Davina, you're up bright and early.'

Davina looked up from the breakfast she was making to see her employer lounging in the kitchen doorway. He had on khaki shorts, a white 'I-shirt, his hair was damp and tousled and his feet bare. She also wore a pair of long khaki shorts, a neat pink blouse tucked into them with a narrow leather belt around her trim waist and polished leather moccasins. She'd tucked her hair behind her ears and had only put moisturiser on her face and a touch of soft coral lipstick. The effect, nevertheless, because her thick hair shone and was well-cut, her skin smooth and fresh, her nails perfectly manicured, was one of good grooming and an air of purpose.