‘… it wasn’t terribly Christian of me,’ she finishes off.

I look inside the cupboard and locate two boxes of herbal tea: camomile and peppermint. I proffer them both. She opts for the peppermint, grabs the box, checks the date and then grimaces (Alys is, and has always been, insanely fastidious).

‘So why not just contact Father Hugh directly and set him straight?’ I wonder.

‘Now that he’s officially a “Brother”,’ Alys confides, ‘Father Hugh – or Father Pietr, as he’s currently known – isn’t really supposed to receive personal phone calls, especially not from women. But there’s a church in Woolhampton Village where he sometimes covers for the local priest, and I’m in contact with Phoebe, the parish secretary, who tries her best to keep the lines of communication open. Oh and sometimes he helps out with the choir and in some of the art classes at the school – he’s a trained draughtsman, in actual fact – so I ring the office and ask for him by name, pretending to be a parent. But it’s all a little bit hit and miss …’

She frowns. ‘D’you happen to have any fresh mint in the garden?’

‘Afraid not.’ I shake my head. ‘It was completely decimated by all those aphids in June. But I have sage and wild lemon balm out back …’ I indicate.

She peers through the kitchen window, somewhat ominously. ‘This used to be a bijou property “close” to the beach,’ she sighs, ‘soon it’ll be a bijou property on the beach.’

I place a couple of the camomile bags into the pot.

‘Plain hot water’s fine for me,’ she says, ‘just tip it straight into the mug.’

She remains by the window for a short while longer, admiring the view.

‘Mr Huff refused to let me see the photographs,’ I grumble, pouring.

‘Really?’ She turns. ‘Did he say why, exactly?’

‘Because of Kimberly dying. He said it wouldn’t be … I don’t know … appropriate – legal. Until the will had been sorted out.’

‘Well I suppose he might just have a point.’ Alys shrugs, coming over to the table to take possession of her mug.

‘But then it dawned on me that the pictures are actually his now. Mr Huff owns them, or at least he shall do, soon. Because he was married to Kimberly and I don’t think there was a will …’

Alys seems perplexed by this news. ‘Did you ask him about it directly?’ she asks.

‘Yes’ – I nod – ‘and he didn’t bother denying it.’

Alys frowns.

‘He wants me to refuse pilgrims access to Orla’s shrine over her birthday,’ I add.

‘But isn’t there a clause in the rental?’ she interrupts.

‘Yes. He knows that. And when I told him it was non-negotiable, he tried to blackmail me. He said he’d only let me see the photographs if I denied all pilgrims access. That’s why Mr Barrow was posted on the gate.’

‘But I thought that was simply to stop Sorcha Jennett and the TV cameras from rampaging over the …’