‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My old enemy. My demons. The spectre of the Jab Molassi. I thought I was going to freak out when Giles started using all my trigger words . . . carnival and tribal dancing. And then you transformed it for me. I shall never forget that, ever. How did you know how near I was to bolting?’

‘Perhaps it takes a panicker to know one. Since the crash I get them too – different causes from yours, different triggers, but deeply disconcerting and unpleasant. Once I’d have laughed anyone to scorn if they told me I’d ever get panic attacks . . . what me?! . . . but now I know they’re quite common and the most unlikely people are secretly afflicted by them. I suppose it was the crash that started it but being locked up in prison made it infinitely worse. It’s getting better and I can usually stop it happening now. I’ve learned a lot in the last few years, but it’s been a long journey.’

He felt her start to relax. He said: ‘Tell me about the second time the old lady rescued you. I thought you never saw her again. When was that – and what did she save you from the next time?’

‘Oh,’ she answered, ‘It wasn’t when she was alive – and I suppose you could say she saved me from myself. After my twenty-fifth birthday, when my father was free to inform me about the legacy, he rightly guessed that knowing someone had cared for me enough to do something so unexpected might be just what I needed to help me get myself back on track – and it was. I’ll show you the letter she left me sometime. I determined that I’d make something of my life and do something worthwhile with her money. I still don’t quite know what or how yet, but yes you’re right. I’ll be gutted if I can’t even locate that house. It’s become symbolic. My whole trip to Scotland is a sort of pilgrimage in her honour. Of course we all know what pilgrimage means, but I love words and I’m a sucker for exact definitions so I looked it up in the dictionary. The first meaning was the one about a journey to a shrine or sacred place, but the second example said: “a journey or long search made for exalted or sentimental reasons”. That’s exactly what I feel about looking for my Contessa’s childhood home.’

‘I’m glad you love words,’ he said, inordinately pleased at this evidence of further shared ground. ‘I’m a word junkie too.’

‘Shall I tell you about another superstition of mine?’

‘Go on then.’

‘You’ll think I’m a nutcase!’

‘Try me.’