It was ironic that someone who’d back-packed solo around some of the most dangerous places in the world should lose her life through a moment’s inattention crossing a Totnes street. Brian was not able to make it back from the Far East for her funeral, but sent flowers. Later on, I discovered that he’d tried to induce my grandfather to attend, as on many occasions in the past he’d tried to persuade him to meet me. After all, Cordelia was his family too. He’d refused. But all her friends were there and the church was packed.

She owned almost nothing. The shop and flat were rented and she was behind with the rent. I believe Brian paid her debts. Her amber earrings and a few books were almost all she had, and these she left to me. She was the nearest thing I had to a mother. I miss her every day of my life.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Receiving stolen goods, you said,’ I reminded Ricky, spearing a garlic mushroom.

He and Morris had invited me out to lunch, ostensibly to thank me for helping them out with The Wizard of Oz costumes, but really because they wanted to find out how I’d got on with Old Nick the day before. I didn’t object. Three-course Sunday lunch in the traditional country comfort of The Church House Inn at Holne is not something I can afford myself, and was worth trading for a little tittle-tattle.

‘It was a long time ago,’ Ricky responded thoughtfully, ‘must be thirty years.’

Morris nodded as he chewed carefully on a bread roll. ‘Whilst he was inside, his missus ran off.’

Ricky was nodding frantically, his mouth too full of crab cake to speak.

‘She went to live with a sister, I think.’ With a napkin, Morris carefully dabbed a droplet of scarlet soup from his tie. ‘The girl would have been about fifteen by then.’

Ricky was able to speak at last. ‘And there was a boy, a bit younger.’

I mulled this over. During my day working for Nick I’d asked him if he had any family, just making conversation, and he’d said no, he had none. None he wanted to talk about, obviously.

At that moment the waiter arrived to take away our first course and enquire if everything had been satisfactory. It had. When he’d carried away the plates, Ricky could contain himself no longer. ‘So, how d’you get on yesterday?’

I hesitated. Something odd had happened and I wasn’t sure how much I should tell.

Things had gone well to begin with; Nick had shown me some items he wanted to sell at auction: the cellaret and an exquisite little writing desk on slender legs, its doors inlaid with marquetry roses. Nick told me it was eighteenth century.