‘Hardly! I’m not so stupid as to be taken in by all your mumbo jumbo.’ Vivienne flicked her talon-tipped fingers in a dismissive gesture towards the tarot cards on the table. Imelda gathered them up and returned them to the protection of their velvet bag, silently apologising to them for Vivienne’s insults.

‘Well, what do you want then?’

Grisha stirred and sat up, rigid by his mistress’s side, sensing immediately the hostility in her tone. Vivienne smiled. It was merely a reconfiguration of her features rather than an expression of emotion. ‘You’re very fond of that dog, aren’t you?’

An icy tingle trickled down Imelda’s spine and goosebumps prickled the skin on her arms, but she said nothing.

‘Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got more interesting things to do. I just wanted to ask whether you’re planning to go to the disco tonight?’

‘And why would that be any of your business?’

Vivienne sighed. ‘Because,’ she explained with exaggerated patience, ‘I’d hate to see you wasting your time and getting your hopes up about Cillian. It’ll only end in tears. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be a wallflower.’ She leaned down and rummaged in the expensive handbag that was on the floor beside her, pulled out a compact and began powdering her nose. Imelda remained silent, denying Vivienne’s opinions any credence or significance. What she really wanted to do was slap her. Very hard. But she remembered what Ruby had said and kept her poker face. Finally satisfied with her appearance, Vivienne snapped shut the compact, retuned it to her bag and stood up.

‘Just a word of friendly advice before I go. Stay at home tonight.’ As she reached the door, she turned and added, ‘And take care of that dog.’

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

1973

Grisha stretched out his neck, lowered his head and began to retch and heave. His lean body shuddered with the effort and Imelda stroked him between his shoulder blades, trying to soothe him with softly spoken words of reassurance. She had caught him snuffling around under her table after Vivienne had left, and as soon as she realised what had happened, she rushed home with him. It was late afternoon and their local vet’s practice was closed. The emergency vet was out on another call. Imelda had been distraught, but her mother knew exactly what to do. By the time they had managed to get Grisha to swallow enough salty water, both Shunty-Mae and Imelda were drenched, but now it was having the desired effect. As Grisha threw up in the flowerbed, Imelda wept with relief. The sticky brown substance was clearly identifiable as dark chocolate, and fortunately it hadn’t been in his stomach long enough to have been digested. Grisha coughed and spat, and then wagged his tail weakly as he followed Imelda back inside. Shunty-Mae offered him some fresh water.