‘I need to talk to people,’ I say, turning to my soup. ‘This is lovely, thank you.’ My cheeks flush as I feel her eyes boring into the top of my head. I realise I’d hoped Annie would unreservedly be on Danny’s side. If she’s not, she’ll want to know exactly who I want to talk to and why.

‘I used to worry about your mother,’ Annie says, and I glance up. Her eyes are still focused on me but they have misted over. ‘She had something inside her you don’t often see. Sometimes it can be mistaken for bravery.’ She pauses. ‘I see it in you, too.’

‘What do you mean?’

Annie waves her spoon in the air. ‘She thought she knew best but I didn’t always agree. I worried about her then and I do for you now. Who are you planning to talk to?’

I don’t answer. I don’t want to involve Annie, and I also don’t want her trying to stop me. I intend to borrow a torch and wait until she has gone to bed before looking for Bob and Ruth. I need to speak to them tonight. Before it’s too late and they charge Danny with murder.

‘If you are so certain your brother didn’t kill Iona then I assume you know something. Or you think you do,’ she continues. ‘Tell me, my dear, what is it?’ Her hand flutters as she brings the spoon to her mouth again.

I sigh, shaking my head, as Annie continues to watch me. I know she won’t give up. But at the same time I’m scared that if I tell her too much, she might not believe it.

‘I think Iona came to Evergreen looking for someone,’ I say eventually. ‘I want to talk to Bob and Ruth.’ My words are lost amid a crack of thunder that fills the room. The sky illuminates with bright white streaks, the lights in the room cutting out instantly.

‘Bother,’ Annie mumbles. Lit by the dim flickering of the gas fire, I watch her get up and wander out of sight. Soon a torchlight spears its beam across the room. She lays the torch on the sideboard and sets about finding candles and matches which she lights and places on the coffee table.

‘Well, you won’t be talking to anyone until morning, my dear,’ she says and I sense her relief. ‘Not in this storm.’ She wanders over to the window and holds a candle up to the glass, shielding her eyes as she peers out. ‘A tree has gone down,’ she says, picking up the telephone that perches on the windowsill. ‘Damn it. I’ll have to get Graham over when the worst has passed. He can fix the phone lines. Now let me get you some bedding.’