But a part of her was curious. Who was so eager to talk to her that they would prostrate themselves before her front door in full view of passers-by just to attract her attention? And what could be so important to require that?

Against her better judgement, Evelyn felt herself being pulled towards the front door just as whoever it was knocked again, harder this time. Then the letter box opened for a second time. From where she was standing at the end of the corridor, Evelyn fancied she could just make out a pair of eyes and possibly a nose.

‘Miss Mountcastle,’ the disembodied head called out. ‘Are you in there?’

‘I’m coming,’ barked Evelyn. ‘Give me a chance, for goodness’ sake.’

The letter box snapped shut and the knocking stopped. Approaching the door, Evelyn reached her hand out to slide the bolt across, but then she stopped. She had no idea who this person was. Yes, the woman had referred to her by name, but how hard could it be to discover that? The Mountcastles had lived in this house for over eighty years. All the person had to do was ask a couple of questions and she could have found out enough details to blag her way in like a long-lost friend. Nicholas was always warning her about scammers. Who was to say this wasn’t one of those? Evelyn stayed her hand.

‘What do you want?’ she asked through the door.

‘I just wanted a quick word,’ came the voice.

‘About what?’ asked Evelyn, her suspicions growing by the minute.

‘I think I have something of yours,’ the woman said.

Evelyn had to concede that the woman didn’t sound like a scammer, although she had only the shakiest notion of how such a person might speak. This woman’s voice was clear and distinct and she was well spoken, with only a hint of a local accent. Evelyn was still sceptical, though. She had barely left the house in years and it seemed highly unlikely that the woman really did have something of hers, but now she wanted to know for sure – exactly as the woman, if she were a scammer, no doubt hoped. Evelyn decided to proceed with caution.

‘Oh yes?’ she replied in what she hoped was a disinterested tone.

‘Yes,’ the woman continued. ‘A diary. From 1983.’

Her words made Evelyn sway a little, and she had to hold on to the doorjamb to steady herself.

‘I work in the Have a Heart charity shop,’ the voice continued.