On the following day, like a failing queen surrounded by her courtiers, Alice Valentine lay in her old bed at Brooklands and explained to them all what she required of them, and how, in these, her last days, they were to conduct themselves. Despite the labour of it, the poverty of air in her lungs, she spoke at length, though among her medicines now there were new drugs that threw longer, deeper shadows, so that she strayed from the light into the dark with a suddenness that meant she could not always be sure she was making any sense. Even so, it was surprising to her that the only one who appeared to understand her was Alec.

She couldn’t move her right hand, then saw that Larry, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, was holding it. And there, between his knees, was her granddaughter, solemn as a little Chinaman. Girl should be out in the garden, not stuck inside seeing things that would give her dreams. She asked who had bought the flowers. Alec nodded to Dennis Osbourne and she laughed, wheezed, coughed, and told the reverend that he was putting on weight and there was not the least hope of her going with him now, even if he dug up his entire garden. Samuel, she said (did she say it?), Samuel knew how to make a woman happy.

Finally, she turned to Brando and instructed him to make sure that everyone did as she asked, though rather rudely he talked across her to Una. She thought she might get very cross if he did that again. He was a foreigner, of course, really. A pastry chef. She said the funniest thing she had ever heard was Kenneth Horne in Round the Horne. Am I repeating myself? she asked. No, said Alec. Thank you, dear. She told him she didn’t mind him not coming to the hospital. You could die of sheer heartbreak in those places. And when you were too weak to make trouble, people did what they liked with you. She said she loved them all and would they please get out and come back later. Goodnight, she said, though it was still a little before midday, and when the curtains blew the light danced over the walls.

Larry walked Dr Brando to his car, a silver-blue Audi estate parked in the shade of the trees. He thanked him for coming. He asked: ‘What do you think?’

‘Well,’ said Brando, glancing at his watch, ‘she’s obviously a bit disorientated but that should settle down. I’m sure this business of speaking in French will pass too, though at least you have an expert on hand. How’s your French?’

‘I don’t,’ said Larry.

‘I’m sure Alec will pass on anything relevant.’

‘What comes next?’ asked Larry.