‘Of course, darling – tell her come now and have tea – and tomorrow you will both come to the concert?’

‘Isn’t it only for unemployed people?’

‘No, no, it is for everyone, free, and then there is a collection at the door for the unemployed. That is the point.’

‘A collection to which all those spirit friends are not well placed to contribute,’ Alec remarked, while Madge slunk towards the telephone. ‘I hope her mother won’t change her mind about the lessons.’

‘She’s so gifted! She’s making such progress! Whyever would she change?’

‘Well, don’t you think we should perhaps be more discreet about these little visitations? Not everyone approves, you know. People find it a bit odd. You know attitudes aren’t exactly as receptive to these things as they used to be.’

‘But, sweetheart, it’s true, it’s happening to us. How can one argue with that?’

‘People only believe what they want to believe – and if they don’t want to believe something, nothing you say will change that. They’ll always find a way round it. It’s human nature. Besides, there are too many frauds… ’

‘You’re sure it’s real, aren’t you?’

‘I’m ready to be convinced,’ he smiled.

Adila glowered. ‘This is still incontrovertible evidence – there is an afterlife and the spirits of the departed are communicating with us. What are they going to do about that? One day our research will show it all… ’

‘I love the way it’s called “research”,’ said Alec. ‘Who’s for another cup of tea?’

*

Big Ben was striking four when Jelly and Adila walked together into Westminster Abbey. Inside, they paused at the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior. For the unknown war dead, wherever they fell. They both remembered the unveiling in 1920 and the crowds that flocked to pay tribute to the dead soldier. Over 1.25 million in the week after the burial, Alec reported. Queues as far as parliament. Everyone in the country seemed to have someone to mourn – a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a fiancé, or several of these. Jelly had shed tears in Westminster Abbey for Sep, though at home she rarely spoke of her pain. Everyone might tease her about being overemotional, but she was quite capable of keeping her deepest feelings to herself and her violin when she wished. Seventeen years after Sep’s death, the tombstone still tore at her.

Adila understood; she slid her arm through her sister’s and squeezed. She read out the inscription at the side: ‘“Unknown and yet well known, dying and behold we live… ” Do you think it’s Sep, down there?’

‘It doesn’t seem fair that we only mark this one because we think he was British,’ said Jelly. ‘They all fought for us.’