Lou backed away from the window, but it was too late. The old lady looked up. She leant forward and waved. Shit. Who did this old woman think was lurking outside her house? A neighbour? A relative? Using the arms of the chair, the lady eased herself up and made her way slowly across the room.

Shit, shit, double shit. Lou couldn’t run away now. What to say … what to say …

The door opened and the lady looked up at her. ‘Hello, dear,’ she said and smiled.

‘Mrs Elderman?’ Lou said.

‘Yes, dear. But you can call me Elizabeth. Come in then. I’ve been expecting you.’

She should back out now. Leave this old lady in peace. Before Lou could protest, Elizabeth fussed her through the door and into the living room. ‘Sit yourself down and get warm by the fire. There’s more coal in the scuttle, if you need it. I’ll pop the kettle on.’

Elizabeth helped Lou out of her parka and disappeared into the hall.

For reasons she couldn’t fathom, Lou felt compelled to do what Elizabeth asked of her. She sat in the armchair on the other side of the fire and took in the details of the warm, homely room with its beams and low ceiling. A Christmas tree stood in the corner in a bucket decorated with pink crepe paper. Silver tinsel was draped around framed prints on the wall and photographs of babies, children, and weddings on the mantelshelf.

Elizabeth reappeared, pushing a trolley of jangling tea things. ‘My son, Michael, gave me this last Christmas,’ she said. ‘It’s a Godsend for when I have visitors. I do like tea to be served properly, don’t you?’ She eased herself down into her armchair. She was so close to Lou that their knees almost touched. ‘Sugar, Denise?’

Oh, shit. ‘Mrs Elderman, I’m really sorry. I think you might have mistaken me for someone else.’

With no outward sign of concern that there was a stranger in her house, Elizabeth continued to pour the tea. ‘You’re not Margaret’s niece, then? I did wonder where your bag was.’

‘My bag?’

‘Avon ladies usually carry their wares in a special bag, don’t they? Come to think of it, I wasn’t expecting Denise until next week. And Christmas Eve would be a strange time to call. But if you’re not Margaret’s niece, who are you?’

What could she say that wouldn’t scare this too trusting lady out of her wits? ‘I’m a friend of a friend of yours. A very old friend, I think. I should probably have phoned before coming.’

‘Oh, how lovely. Which friend? When you get to my age, you’ve lost so many that it’s nice to get back in touch with any that are still around.’

Elizabeth picked up the cup and saucer. As she handed the tea to Lou, Lou said, ‘I know her as Mrs Hart, but you might know her as Leonora. Leonora Mandeville.’

The cup and saucer began to shake, the spoon rattling against the teacup. Lou brought the cup under control. Taking it from Elizabeth, she placed it back on the trolley. Elizabeth pulled a hankie from the sleeve of her sweater and held it to her face.