And with that, he strode off, slapped a note on the bar before counting out what I presumed to be the exact change to cover his bill, along with a 10 per cent tip, then barrelled out of the door leaving me so shocked, it wasn’t until much later that I remembered to check what the message was.

We spent the final hour and a half of the journey in silence, with only the cacophony of improvised jazz to drown out Henry’s measured breathing and my confused thoughts about what just happened.

The first indication that this wouldn’t be the dream outcome I’d hoped for was the street we turned onto, which was a row of Victorian semi-detached houses towards the outskirts of a small commuter town. They were reasonably sized, well-presented properties but they certainly didn’t appear as if the owners would have a spare half a million pounds to give away.

It was nearly seven when Henry pulled up outside the address in the letter and turned off the engine, his eyes fixed on the dashboard.

‘I don’t know what I’ve done or said to make you angry with me, but is there any chance you can put it to one side until this is over with?’ I paused, trying to control the trembling in my voice. ‘I really need you with me.’

‘I am with you,’ he mumbled, one shoulder twitching.

‘No. I need you with me.’

He slowly turned towards me, although it took a good few seconds for his eyes to stop darting about. ‘I’m sorry. I’m with you.’

I met his gaze, and believed that he meant it.

‘I’m not angry with you, either.’

I raised an eyebrow in response.

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t angry. But it’s not you.’

‘Okay.’ I took a couple of deep breaths. ‘The longer I sit here, the worse it’ll get. Let’s do this.’

Then, before I’d even realised that my feet were moving, I was knocking on the navy front door.

The woman who answered appeared to be in her seventies, which was a positive sign. The way her lips narrowed when I asked if I could speak with Tony O’Dowd was not.

‘He died in 2004.’

I took an involuntary step backwards, the words – no matter how hard I’d tried to prepare myself for them – hit me like a physical blow.

‘Tony O’Dowd, the journalist?’ Henry asked, placing a reassuring hand on my back.

‘Yes. Are there many others?’

‘But he did live here? You knew him?’ I managed to ask, fighting hard to recover my composure.

‘We were married.’ She scanned me up and down. ‘Why are you here?’