‘It’ll be William.’ Carol grabbed the box. ‘He’s so finicky about everything. Just the type of fusspot to start putting ownership labels on kitchen ingredients.’ She ripped the top off, and looked inside. ‘Yes. I was right. File under “cakes or cookies”.’ She pulled out a square of brown cake and inspected it. ‘Chocolate brownies. Yum!’ She put it back, popped the lid on and handed the box to Theresa. ‘Mustn’t tempt me, though. I have to watch my figure, you know. Especially as I’m going on a—’

‘Hot date. Yes. I know.’ Theresa felt silly now. Of course she didn’t recognise the cakes. William and Benjamin must have made them and left them for her as a peace offering.

Carol gathered the collar of her coat and leaned back against the countertop. ‘There’s one thing puzzles me, though, Theresa. Why would a perfectly sane woman like you be hopping around like a cat on a hot tin roof about a Tupperware box? You’re so jumpy. It can’t be only the runaway child. And anyway, she’s back, isn’t she? So what’s the beef?’

Theresa weighed up the situation and felt glad that Carol herself was asking her to talk about it.

She started with roses and the CD.

‘Daphnis et Chloé, eh?’ Carol gave a knowing grimace.

‘I suppose that’s because of my missing granddaughter.’

‘Whad’ya mean?’ Carol stood open-mouthed. ‘That piece of music, my darling woman, is quite the most romantic bit of schmaltz ever written in the history of the world. Well, I suppose The Firebird might pip it to the post, but that’s Stravinsky, so you have to wade through so much clink, clank, clonk before you get to the fabulous swooshingly dramatic bit. What else?’

‘I got a knife through the post.’

‘What kind of knife?’

Theresa grabbed her bag and took out the huge Sabatier.

‘Whoo! Don’t point that thing at me, as the girl said to the soldier.’ Carol laughed and waved a hand. ‘But then you are a cook. For you to get a knife isn’t so much. It’s a bit like a painter getting paintbrushes or a rally driver getting, well, whatever rally drivers use every day. Though if you weren’t a cook, I’d be very worried. Let’s leave that as a potential wrong ’un.’

Theresa explained about the rose petals, the answering machine and the voice whispering her name in the deep of night. She then mentioned the missing photo album and, before Carol could interrupt and offer to search the place one more time on her behalf, went on to say that, one by one, someone was sending photos from the album back to her. She dug into her pocket and presented the photo she had received last night.