I turned to the orderly. ‘Oh, I forgot to ask Dr Larren to do something.’ He looked at me with little interest. ‘Could you give a message to my cousin?’

His shoes were canvass, despite the cold and the fact that he seemingly had to tramp along country lanes to the hospital. ‘Who’s your cousin?’ he replied.

‘Rachel Burton.’

He glanced at the corridor to the other wing. ‘All right.’

I felt a jolt of adrenalin but managed to stay composed. ‘Just say Jane was sorry she couldn’t stay. I’m feeling ill.’

‘All right.’

We reached the lobby. ‘Oh, she’ll be so disappointed, though,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any way of just saying a quick hello to her on my way out?’

He stopped and something seemed to occur to him. ‘Past visiting time now. Shouldn’t, really.’

‘Yes, of course. It’s a trouble for you. Perhaps I could pay you for your time.’ I reached into my handbag and took a pound note from my purse. The orderly stared at it, then at the security guard, who was watching us. I added another note, and clipped my purse closed to show him that there would be no more forthcoming. The guard went back to filling in his forms.

‘Just for a minute, no more,’ Tibbot said, cajoling him.

The orderly swiftly stuffed the money in his pocket. He would buy the guard a drink later, no doubt. He unlocked the door to the corridor and took us to what I suspected was the room we had seen from outside the house, with the faces staring out on to the lawn. ‘Be quick,’ he said, as we stood on the threshold. ‘A minute tops.’

‘Thank you so much.’ I was trying to appear calm and not too excited.

It was a linoleum-floored lounge with many small tables and hard seats. An unpleasant odour, like distant rotting fields, hung over the scene, emanating from a mass of dirty tin plates and wooden cutlery on the tables. The meagre remains of a meal were festering while twenty or thirty people, men and women, murmured or read battered magazines and paperbacks. Some of them had copies of Blunt’s The Compass – doing so probably curried favour with the hospital authorities. A few posters of his image, emblazoned with quotations from his book, formed the room’s only decoration, and below one such bill a heavyset nurse sat listening to gentle music drifting from a speaker.

She looked up as Tibbot and I entered, confused by our presence, but the orderly lifted his palm to say it was all right and I rapidly glanced through the room for any sign of the handsome young woman from the photograph in Nick’s study. I must have stood stock still for a while, because the orderly spoke again. ‘Go on, then, hurry up,’ he said tetchily.