I explained to my companion that I had long experience of mixing with wealthy people, mainly in the country seats of Northumberland and the chateaux of Auvergne. However, never before had I seen a place like this.

Our multimillionaire host had poured thousands into transforming a large decaying house into a glistening palace. Most impressive was the vast entrance hall with its four solid marble staircases. From these you could access most of the newly renovated rooms. The only restriction was that access to the very top floor was strictly forbidden.

I was desperate to find out why the top floor was out of bounds. Nobody would notice if I climbed over the rope barrier at the top of the stairs, would they? If it really was that dangerous, surely they would have made it more difficult to cross? I skipped over the rope and trotted along the newly installed burgundy carpet. At the far end of a long corridor I pushed open an unpainted wooden door. Behind it some dusty back stairs led to yet another floor above.

At the top of the stairs I was thrilled to discover an enormous room that stretched across the whole length of the palace’s main wing. The huge space was barely furnished, with just a massive table in the middle. The table itself was laid out with a 3D model of a city. Staff in military uniforms were gathered around it, deep in conversation.

The staff did not appear to notice my presence, so I felt bold enough to approach the table and peer closer. From the layout of the city and the small-scale landmarks I recognised it as the Finnish port of Turku. The officials were debating whether or not to lend the city’s famous statue of the narwhal to Tallin.

I concluded that our multimillionaire friend had renovated the palace as a cover for the Finnish secret service. I had not really overheard a conversation about a narwhal, but a plot for the Finnish invasion of Estonia.