‘I’m just … I’m just not so sure that they really were. She was more … It was more … Almost a professional … I don’t know. He always seemed to find her rather irritating. At least from my perspective—’

‘Well the affair must have started at Mulberry,’ Alys interrupts, continuing to worry away at the facts, ‘because the turnaround between then and … and …’

I just can’t let this go on any further.

‘Poor Mrs Barrow seems to think that Mr Huff is under surveillance by the CIA!’ I chuckle (almost convincingly). ‘She told me he actually said he thought they’d put the shark under his bed!’

‘He was just pulling her leg, surely?!’ Alys snorts.

‘Maybe, but Mrs Barrow certainly swallowed it all hook, line and sinker.’ I grin. ‘In fact she’s so paranoid now that she’d probably think it was the Secret Services messing around with your phone …’

‘Why? Because I’m half Irish?’ Alys snaps (suddenly quite failing to see the funny side). ‘Because of the IRA angle?’

‘I’m just kidding!’ I protest.

‘D’you think I should contact Father Hugh?’ she wonders.

‘I was just kidding, Alys!’ I maintain.

‘Because nothing really adds up, Carla. I mean the more I think about it the more … And I know for a fact that Mr Huff had been making strenuous attempts to get in touch with Father Hugh at Douai …’

She sighs, worriedly.

‘But Father Hugh isn’t …’ I murmur.

‘I have special privileges,’ she confides, almost apologetically, ‘as his Spiritual Child. And I may have encouraged him to look on Mr Huff’s recent requests more favourably than he naturally …’

‘But I always thought …?’ I start off, confused.

‘He’s not allowed to talk about it. Not on record. No. But he still has … He still thinks – same as we all do – that … you know. That Orla deserves recognition. But it needs to be carefully managed – the right kind of attention. Not sensational and exploitative. I told him I thought the photos were just … Photos are truthful things, Carla. And several of them feature Father Hugh himself. There’s one of him in the garden at Mulberry, laughing, covered in daisy chains. It’s just beautiful. And you’re there, in the background, with Bran, wearing that little, red beret you always loved to—’

‘I was probably stringing the chains,’ I mutter. ‘Orla sometimes found it hard to … to string the little stalks together – with her poor arms being so …’

My eyes fill with tears. I blink, fiercely.

Don’t let her …

Don’t …

‘So I just wanted him to know,’ she continues, ‘to prepare him, up front. Just in case he might get into strife with his superiors.’

‘Do you remember the actual words of that special prayer?’ I murmur. ‘The one about sinners being daisies? The one Kalinda wouldn’t let her …?’

‘Sorry?’

‘There was a special prayer. About the garden. And weeds. Daisies. To save souls. Orla’s little prayer to save souls. I was telling Mr Huff about it earlier, in the sauna, and then I suddenly realized that I didn’t … I couldn’t actually remember—’