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After a sleepless night worrying about the neighbours’ comments on Facebook, I decided to dismiss their opinions as gossip. Keeping busy when anxious was my default setting, so I decided to tidy up. The leaning towers of books in every room had to be the first job. My aunt had loved her home but complained about the books she amassed as an editor and book blogger and donated them to a charity when she could find time. I loaded the wheelbarrow with books and headed to the charity donation box in the village.

The rusty wheelbarrow groaned when I pushed it a couple of metres. July sunshine burned my back as I paused to give the royal wave to the neighbour Felix, who watched me from the steel and glass balcony of his terraced stone cottage. I wondered what Felix thought about my aunt being presumed dead. Maybe I should do a little investigation.

Crazy paving was easier to negotiate than the lawn, so I charged down the wonky garden path towards the potting shed, turning around to admire Tanglewood Cottage. The greyish sandy coloured stone and lilac door framed with sweet peas made me smile. Snuggled between two dwellings that looked as if they had been airbrushed for a magazine, my new home was the most inviting. Delphiniums and red-hot pokers offered a party of flames in the flower beds and stood proud above the marigolds that were being ravaged by slugs. I made a mental note to watch Gardeners’ World and avoid any of the TV murder mysteries .

Finally, I reached the bottom of the garden and stopped to rest my arms. But the wheelbarrow wobbled towards the narrow gateway at the end of the row of cottages.

Books tumbled to the ground as Felix arrived. His sparkling white short-sleeved shirt and crisp chinos reminded me to find the iron later. ‘Can I help you with your squeak?’ he asked, without any sign of a smirk on his perfectly sculpted face.

‘I can manage, thank you. There’s an oil can under the sink.’ I shoved the pile of books to one side with my foot. The wheelbarrow fitted through the gate with some force. Aware Felix studied me, I pulled my floppy hat over my eyes to disguise my face, shiny with sweat. My aunt’s creased floral blouse over my pink vest top and khaki walking shorts did not flatter me, especially with green wellies, but I loved the occasional waft of Chanel perfume from her clothes. Best to raise my head in the air and continue my wheelbarrow catwalk, rather than asking him any questions about Aunt Ada.

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, while inspecting the ancient Bella Mysteries as if they were objets d’art . ‘You might want to keep these exquisite collections. They’re set locally and part of our writing heritage. I thought you teachers loved books. Your aunt adored the Bella Mysteries.’ He thumbed the yellow pages without sneezing and added, ‘Printed in 1975, signed and first editions.’

His voice contained the mesmerising, knowledgeable tone of David Attenborough, and I found myself in a hypnotic state achieved only by consuming chocolate mousse cake. I could not think of anything to say.

‘Earth to Maisie,’ he said, moving his hand in front of my face.

‘Erm. I never saw Aunt Ada reading them, and I’m sure they were on her charity book pile. I’ll take them to the book bank.’

Scooping up the books with ease in his large, toned arms, he said, ‘Well, I’ll take care of them for the time being.’ His deep, clear voice boomed at me as if he was in the middle of a production of Hamlet . My best friend, Grant, would have a ball imitating him, particularly the way his left eyebrow appeared to shoot up towards his hairline. He reached into a worn brown leather wallet. ‘Here’s two hundred pounds deposit. You’ve three months to decide what you want to do. I’ll pay the rest if you want me to keep them. I love these vintage front covers.’ When Felix pressed the money in my hand, the essence of pine aftershave drifted towards me like the blast from my mother’s plug-in air fresheners. That he was prepared to pay more for second-hand murder mysteries made me keen to investigate Bella Mysteries online, but his money would be a useful loan until my first month’s salary.

Arm still outstretched and with the money safely in my fist, I smiled at Felix from beneath my hat. ‘Thank you.’

With his eyes fixed on the rim of my hat, I wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something or laugh. There were a couple of creases on his forehead. I tried to work out how old he was and guessed he was at least ten years older than me. Felix had always been on business in France when I visited. Maybe I’d invite him to dinner and break down the barriers. If my Aunt Ada had liked him, then I needed to give him a chance and Grant did mention something about romance with a neighbour in this month’s horoscope. ‘It’s a shame we haven’t met until now,’ I said.

‘I used to spend the summer in France, attending wild parties.’

An unfamiliar snorting giggle that reminded me of a sound effect in a cartoon escaped from me. I paused and changed the subject. ‘How well did you know my aunt, Felix?’

‘She was a good friend.’

‘That’s nice. Do you know why she went to Paris?’

‘She went to see an old friend.’ He sighed.

‘Do you know why she went away earlier than planned?’

‘No. We had a lovely evening together a week before she went, and she never mentioned a change of plans. I still can’t believe she has passed away. “Presumed dead” gives us a little hope, I suppose.’

His words triggered my anxiety caused by the opinions on social media. ‘Do you think my aunt is still …’

Hand on my shoulder, he interrupted, ‘Don’t read the gossip, Maisie. Ignore Facebook comments and don’t be afraid to end conversations if they pry. We can all hope but, …’

I nodded and picked up the wheelbarrow again to hide my flushed face.

He watched me and smiled again. ‘I know you’re busy, so I’ll let you get on.’

‘Cheerio, Felix.’ I waved my hand in the air as if involved in a sitcom from the sixties. Pulling down my hat, I shielded my eyes from his toned arms.