My eyes adjusted to the half light in the lobby. I somehow knew that this was a hotel, albeit a remote and outwardly inhospitable one, but just how I knew was the puzzle. Near a staircase was an ornate counter in front of a curtained alcove, no doubt the inn’s reception. As if on cue the curtains shifted and a woman moved behind the desk.

All this had happened as though preordained and I felt powerless to avoid the crushing certainty that I was caught in a torrent of time, hurtling into an abyss. She may have spoken but I could only hear the rush of blood in my ears. I put the old man down and he leant against me.

She was ancient yet not old and her beauty was timeless. She watched me carefully, her arched features set in stone. I heard myself mumble something about a room and then I remembered my companion and said something about him. She seemed indifferent to everything I said but indicated that I should proceed upstairs.

It still felt like I was reading from a script, perhaps some kind of Victorian thriller and I wondered whether I was the hero or the victim. Then I noticed a tremor in the curtains and I glimpsed a face in the gap. There was a flash of recognition but the moment passed quickly when the woman stepped backwards, blocking my view.

I struggled upstairs, urging the old man upwards. The stairs led to a landing and several corridors leading into darkness and beyond. Paintings festooned the walls. An inexplicable feeling clutched my heart like a claw and squeezed.