‘Charlie, dear, are you flirting again?’ His wife, Mary, gave a tut that Jelly judged only semi-serious. ‘Why don’t you pour Jelly and Anna a nice glass of sherry? Goodness knows they’ve earned one.’

*

After they had eaten and the maid had cleared the plates, Charles sat back, a crystal decanter in front of him. ‘So, ladies, what’s after port? Cards? Charades?’

‘We could have a good session, as there are four of us,’ Mary suggested. ‘It’s always better with more people.’

Anna and Jelly exchanged glances. ‘Mary likes to play the glass game,’ Jelly explained.

‘Load of rubbish, but if Mary gets a kick out of it I don’t mind,’ Charles declared. ‘Who knows, these supposed spirits might even tell us something useful this time. What shares we ought to buy, or how the economy is ever going to get out of this damnable hole.’

‘Don’t swear, dear,’ said Mary. ‘Jelly, Anna, will you play?’

They both hesitated, Jelly fidgeting with the cross at her throat. ‘I’ve always felt it’s just… not quite right,’ she said.

‘I find it too scary,’ Anna admitted. ‘Adila sometimes wants me to join in, but I don’t dare.’

‘But what harm can it do?’ Mary cajoled. ‘It’s only the glass game, not a séance. We’re not spiritualists – anything but – and there’s no ectoplasm or ghosts appearing to worry about. Why not join us, just this once?’

‘Do humour her, dear Jelly,’ said Charles. ‘Otherwise I’ll be in for a double session tomorrow.’

Jelly looked from Charles to Mary, and at Anna, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. ‘Just a few minutes, perhaps,’ she said. It seemed the polite solution.

‘We can stop whenever you like,’ said Mary. She beamed at Jelly, then drew the curtains, closing out the world. Opening a drawer in her bureau she brought out a well-used Ouija board, its black print fading towards sepia. The letters of the alphabet were marked on it in a wide semi-circle of two rows, the numbers up to nine – plus zero – in one row beneath, as well as the words ‘Yes’ on one side, ‘No’ on the other and ‘Goodbye’ at the bottom. This she placed in the centre of the table, with a small planchette pointer on top. Finally she extinguished the lamp and lit one candle; dim lighting would aid concentration. In the glow of its flame, Jelly saw the faces of her companions turned to gold, while their surroundings melted into the darkness.

They took their seats, two on each side of the table.

‘Very gently,’ Mary instructed. ‘Everyone rest one finger on the pointer. Whatever happens, don’t push. Let them move it as they wish. I’ll ask the questions.’

For a while the pointer stayed immobile. Then beneath their fingers it gave the slightest shudder.