‘And to think I was worried about Mum having a boyfriend,’ Martha said. ‘Ellis is practically perfect compared to Rick-the-Cat-Killer.’

Tom smiled. ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that.’

‘Me neither. But Ellis has gone up in my estimation. I’m sure he was having doubts about Rick that night around the table, before Lucy’s telephone call. There was something in the way he looked at me when Rick was playing with Willow’s hair. I honestly think he thought the same as I did, that it was a creepy act of possession.’

‘Some might see the gesture as endearing. We’ve seen him do it before.’

‘Yeah, and it doesn’t get any more palatable each time we’re subjected to it. Don’t ever think of doing that to me.’

Tom laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare. Not unless I was keen to have my hand bitten off.’

Chapter Forty

‘Hello, Mrs Powell, I hope this isn’t a bad time to call you. How are you?’

‘Not very well, since you ask.’

‘Oh,’ said Willow, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It’s my hip; it’s giving me merry hell. Although there’s nothing merry about hell, or my wonky hip.’

‘No, I don’t suppose there is,’ remarked Willow.

‘I know it’s just a saying – merry hell – but maybe the person who came up with it believed the devil really did have all the fun.’

‘I’d never thought of it that way before.’

‘Nor had I until now. Who did you say you were, dear?’

Grabbing her chance, Willow moved smoothly on to her well-oiled sales pitch. ‘My name is Willow and I’m calling from AoK. I have a very special request to make of you this afternoon, Mrs Powell. You’ve been so very generous over the years in supporting the work your favourite charity carries out, but I wonder if you could possibly see your way to—’

‘Willow’s an odd sort of name,’ the woman cut in. ‘Is it one of those made-up ones? Between you and me, some of the names you hear nowadays are just plain silly and shouldn’t be allowed. I heard a young woman in the park the other day shouting out the name Magnolia. Have you ever heard of anything more stupid? Who in their right mind names a child after a tree, or the colour of paint? Is Willow your nickname? Are you tall and skinny with sticks for arms and legs?’

‘Actually, it’s my real name,’ Willow answered pleasantly. ‘It was my mother’s choice. And I’m not that tall or thin. Quite average, really.’ Determined to get the conversation back on track, Willow tried again. ‘Now Mrs Powell, the reason I’m calling is—’

‘Well, be quick about it, I can’t stand here chatting all day, not with my hip and Escape to the Country about to start. Do you ever watch that? You know what drives me mad about that programme?’

‘No,’ Willow replied patiently.

‘When those dozy people don’t end up buying one of the houses they’ve been shown. I think it’s rude of them. I always feel sorry for the poor owners having their hopes built up that they might get a sale out of having their house on telly. All that effort to tidy up and have everything shipshape, and then those idiots who couldn’t make up their minds if their lives depended on it dither about and choose nothing. The plain truth of the matter is they only want to have their faces on the telly. See themselves as celebrities, I expect. Time-wasters, that’s what they are.’ She laughed abruptly. ‘But I still watch it. Do you know why?’