She took my empty cup – I had refused a second – and began to stack the tray ready to be removed. ‘I think that James is dead. I don’t think that he is anywhere else … I am certain of it,’ she said, getting up and pressing the bell behind the geraniums again.

‘I’m sorry. I mean sorry for you. It’s a hopeless remark; words are so inadequate.’

She stood looking out of the windows, a good figure, arms folded across her breasts, still, very upright: of course, an army child.

‘I loved him so much. So very much. When we first met I thought that I had pushed open the gates of heaven, it was so wonderful; beyond any dreams I had ever had. It happens, doesn’t it? An instant, a look, and suddenly one knows.’

‘An instant. I understand that well.’

‘But heaven turns to hell sometimes, doesn’t it? Anyway …’ She came and sat down again as the dark woman hurried in and pushed the trolley out of the place and was on the point of closing the door when another figure pushed it open with a thud.

A tall woman, grey hair held back with a metal slide, a tweed skirt, woollen cardigan over a knitted jersey, a brooch at the throat, a small plastic watering-can in one hand. She was, I’d imagine, about seventy, a sprightly seventy, eyes bright, hand outstretched towards me.

‘Don’t rise. Please don’t let me disturb you, but it is my watering time, you understand what I mean? I have my plants to do every second day; I’ll just continue while you talk. I know who you are, but you don’t know that I’m the mother of Florence. I am Sidonie Prideaux, this is my house and you are welcome to be here.’ She turned her back and, humming lightly under her breath, went to a tap in the wall and began to fill her little watering-can.

It did not make for very relaxed conversation between Florence and me, and Madame Prideaux probably knew this perfectly well: it was obviously a delicate hint that my time was up.

Florence said suddenly, ‘I’ll go and get the papers and that letter, and you may take them to the hotel and study them in peace. Will you wait a few moments?’

When she had left, Madame Prideaux stopped humming and busied herself with her plants, topping up the goldfish tank and generally being as disturbing as she could.

‘What do you say to my banana tree? Eh?’ she said. ‘I brought it through the most awful winter with just one small gas heater in here.’

‘A great achievement, Madame. It is very fine.’