She gave him her best smile. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Dad.’

He held her gaze for a second or two longer, as if trying to satisfy himself that she was telling the truth, and then returned his attention to his breakfast.

Pip lifted the teapot and pressed the flat of her hand to the china to test the temperature.

‘Would you like some bacon?’ her mother asked, but Pip shook her head. She had lost her appetite for huge farmhouse breakfasts. In London, fruit, yoghurt and granola, or smashed avocado, were more the order of the day. Or just coffee. God, she missed coffee.

She wanted to ask her mother about Evelyn as casually as she could and without referring to the purloined diary. It felt like her secret and she didn’t want to share it if she didn’t have to.

‘Oh Mum, I meant to ask,’ she began as lightly as she could, ‘do you know someone called Evelyn Mountcastle?’

Her mother pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as she searched her mind for the name. ‘Evelyn Mountcastle,’ she repeated, but then she shook her head. ‘Can’t say I do? Why? Who is she?’

‘Oh, no one,’ replied Pip a little too quickly. ‘I just overheard something in the shop, that was all, and I wondered if you knew her.’

‘Sorry, love. Do you know an Evelyn Mountcastle, Roy?’ her mother asked her father, but he too shook his head.

‘Never mind,’ said Pip. ‘It’s nothing important. I was just curious.’

Disappointment seeped into Pip’s fragile good mood. It had been a long shot that her parents might know something about Evelyn, but not out of the way impossible. It seemed, though, that in this as in so many other things recently, she was to be unlucky. Maybe Audrey would know her. Pip might even recognise her herself, if she was a regular in the shop. She would do some careful sniffing around at work and see what she could unearth.

Jez swallowed his mouthful of bacon, took a slurp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I know Miss Mountcastle,’ he said, without looking up from his plate. ‘Mum used to clean for her. Well, not her but the other Miss Mountcastle. Her sister. She lives on the seafront in one of those big houses that looks out on the prom. Or at least she used to. Mum’s not worked there for donkey’s years. But I remember her because she was a right cow. Not Evelyn. The other one.’ Then he took another bite of his muffin, rendering further conversation inadvisable.

The other Miss Mountcastle must have been the Joan from the diary, Pip thought, excited that she was starting to piece things together.

‘But you don’t know if she’s still living there?’ she asked, ignoring her mother’s curious expression, but Jez just shrugged and shook his head.

‘And how did you say you knew her, Pip?’ her mother asked.

Pip needed to backtrack fast. The last thing she needed was her mother getting involved. This was her adventure.