‘I could murder that cup of tea,’ she said now, hoping Evelyn didn’t realise she was thinking more about Evelyn’s needs than her own and take offence. ‘Shall we call in here?’

She pointed to the café at the very start of the pier, and Evelyn nodded. Pip held open the door and ushered them both in.

She hadn’t realised how strong the wind was until they were out of it. Evelyn shuffled towards a table and virtually fell into a chair. The walk had clearly been more demanding for her than she had let on. It wasn’t surprising, given how rarely she left her house, but Pip hoped they hadn’t overdone it. The nephew really would have something to complain about then.

They ordered tea and scones, sticky buns being conspicuous by their absence, then sat quietly contemplating the sea beyond the window. Pip had missed moments of peace and stillness. The pace of life was so fast in London and she loved being in the thick of it, thriving on the stress and dancing on the competitive knife-edge without losing her balance. But she had been playing the game by the wrong rules, she realised now. The lifestyle, the competition, having just the right thing or eating in just the right place – it had grown out of proportion, like a cancer that just kept multiplying until there was no room for other, less urgent things. And she hadn’t made any space for quiet – had scoffed at it, in fact, as if taking time away from the cut and thrust of her London life was a sign of weakness. Now she understood that had been a mistake. She would rectify it. When her life reformed into whatever it was going to be and she got back to her work, she would make sure she found time for watching waves roll in and clouds scud across the sky.

Pip suddenly became aware of Evelyn’s eyes on her, and turned her head enquiringly. The old woman held her gaze steadily, even when she had been caught staring. It felt as if she were trying to stare deep into Pip’s soul. Pip stared back for a moment, but then felt forced to look down, unable to bear Evelyn’s scrutiny any longer.

‘Did you read my diary?’ Evelyn asked abruptly. Her voice was low, but her words were very distinct.

Pip swallowed. What should she say? She could lie; Evelyn would never be able to prove the contrary was true. But where would that get her? Once she lied, she would never find out what truly happened to Scarlet and Joan. And what was the worst that could happen if she told the truth? Evelyn could clam up and refuse to see her again. That would be a shame, but there was nothing turning on it, apart from Pip’s own curiosity.