‘Hmm, I guess not.’ Grace had to agree, as with his mirrored petrol-blue sunglasses and flamboyant fluoro-lime trainers, he wasn’t exactly blending in with the genteel top-drawer set who lived in an exclusive place like this. ‘But there’s still nobody in, Jamie.’ And she went to walk off.

‘Hang on, I think I just saw someone moving around inside …’ And he tapped on the window. A little while later, the big front door was slowly opening, and a very elderly woman was standing before them, wearing a smart, pink tweed Chanel jacket and pearls, with coiffured snowy hair and pensive eyes.

Grace inhaled sharply and then held her breath as she scanned the woman’s papery, age-lined face, wondering if this frail old lady really could be Connie? Maybe her hunch was wrong after all and Connie was still alive. The woman standing in front of her looked to be at least in her nineties, so it was possible she could have a daughter who was in her seventies.

Jamie darted away from the window and towards the front door.

‘Hello, I hope I didn’t startle you. It’s just that my friend here is looking for someone … A friend. Yes, a long-lost friend,’ he quickly reassured as the woman clasped her hands together in worry, her eyes flitting left and right along the street and then gazing out over the grassy heath behind them, as if trying to fathom the situation with these two strangers.

Grace smiled and stepped forward so she was standing alongside Jamie.

‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ she said and held out her hand, resisting a sudden urge to dip into some kind of curtsey, such was her feeling of reverence for the elegant woman standing before her … or was it in hope of meeting Connie after all.

‘Who are you?’ the elderly woman asked tentatively.

‘Um, my name is Grace Quinn,’ she said, briefly holding the lady’s tiny soft hand in hers. ‘And this is my best friend, Jamie.’

‘Hello.’ Jamie did a little wave by way of introduction before folding his arms and stepping back to allow Grace to carry on.

‘We’ve come here to find a long-lost friend—’

‘You’ll have to speak up, my dear,’ and the old lady moved in a little closer, placing her hand on Grace’s arm. ‘My hearing isn’t what it used to be, you see. It comes to us all in the end, I’m afraid. Pleased to meet you … you can call me Lady Bee … everyone does. Now, what is it you were saying?’ And with her free hand she patted her immaculate hair while Grace wondered if this meant that she really was a bona-fide Lady … she certainly had an air of nobility about her.