Perhaps that had already happened? It had been so long since she had spent any time in company that she had no idea whether she was still capable of it, although, going by the time she spent with Nicholas, she feared she had quite lost the knack. In fact, she quite enjoyed presenting herself as grumpy and difficult. It was a role she could play easily, barely having to delve into her actress’s box of tricks at all, and it served to keep people in general at bay, which suited her mood these days. But Nicholas was family, and she should be kinder to him.

Finally, she reached the landing. She pushed against the door to the office, but it resisted her, no doubt prevented from opening fully by a pile of something or other on the other side. Evelyn shouldered the door as firmly as she dared – broken bones were to be avoided at all costs. It gave a little, but she had to turn herself sideways to slink her way in.

Once she was in, the room didn’t look nearly as bad as she had feared. In fact, she wasn’t sure what Nicholas had been making such a fuss about. Yes, there were books piled on every surface, but she could still see the fading red medallions on the Persian rug.

It was clear someone had been in there relatively recently, however. There were gaps in the dust where items had been picked up and put down elsewhere. It looked a little like a stage set, which pleased her in a perverse kind of way.

Then she turned and took in the shelves that lined the wall behind the door, and her heart stopped beating. Where were the books? She stood, mouth gaping, and stared at the newly created space on the shelf. A run of about three feet was completely bare; not a single book was left. Evelyn swayed slightly, then pushed her way through to the shelf, not caring what she knocked over in her rush to get there.

She had no idea which books were missing, but that was of no importance. Books could be replaced if necessary. It was what else had been sitting safe and sound next to them that was crucial.

Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest now that she could hear it in her ears. She stumbled to the shelf, hardly daring to look for fear of what she might see, but when she did, there they all were, lined up neatly in date order. Her diaries. Evelyn had been an inveterate diary-keeper since childhood. Growing up in a house where she didn’t fit in with the other occupants, her diary had provided a welcome escape from the torments of day-to-day life. Back then, she had kept them safely hidden away from her family, never quite trusting any of them not to read what she wrote and then mock her for it.