‘Lay a pen and a fork at his place setting for meals,’ she advised. ‘I think he’ll get the message.’

At just past five o’clock, Imelda stood up, stretched and wandered over to the window. The surface of the lake was now mottled by the reflection of glowering storm clouds and the swans bobbed on the water, their feathers ruffled by a gathering breeze. There was no knock to announce the entrance of Lady Longhorn.

‘Good afternoon, Madame Burova. We spoke on the telephone. I’m Lady Longhorn.’

She offered Imelda her hand. As the skin of their palms met, Imelda felt an ominous prickle of recognition, not of the woman herself but of her cold nature.

‘Would you read my cards for me?’

‘Do you believe in tarot, Lady Longhorn?’

‘I’ll answer that after you’ve read my cards,’ Lady Longhorn replied.

Imelda handed her the pack to shuffle and then laid the cards in a spread known as the Gateway of Fate that she used to give a general reading rather than to answer specific questions.

‘You’ve always had plenty of money, but it hasn’t always been good for you. It hasn’t always made you happy.’

‘I could hardly be poor and living in a place like this,’ Lady Longhorn replied.

‘You have a solid relationship with your husband, but you’ve never been in love with him. He’s not your soulmate. In fact, you lead largely separate lives.’

‘In a house this size, that’s not terribly difficult. And I don’t believe in soulmates. They’re the stuff of Mills and Boon, not real men and women.’

Imelda worked through the cards, revealing that Lady Longhorn had two sons. ‘An heir and a spare,’ she confirmed wryly, and had a privileged but rather empty life that looked set to continue, uninterrupted by anything of interest or excitement. But there was one card that intrigued Imelda.

‘You have a daughter,’ she said, pointing at the moon on the table. ‘But she’s a secret in your past. You never speak about her, do you – Vivienne?’

Imelda couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that she had recognised her. But the more she spoke, and the more Imelda looked into those grey eyes, the more certain she became that this was the woman she had despised for more than twenty years. Vivienne met her gaze defiantly.

‘Am I right in believing that you can never repeat what passes between you and a client during a reading?’

Imelda nodded.

‘Well then, it seems I must acknowledge that perhaps the cards have some validity. If, indeed, that is how you found out about the girl.’

‘How else could I possibly know?’

‘Perhaps you saw me leave her in the doorway of your booth.’

It took Imelda a moment to register what she was saying.

‘You? It was you?’