‘Two things. There was a little silver photograph frame with two faded black and white pictures in it: one is of a little girl of about six wearing a caped coat and leggings and standing with her arm round an enormous shaggy dog – a Scottish deer hound I should think, very Walter Scott, very Landseer – and on the back in faded ink is written Lucy-Anne with Archer, 1920. She’s standing by a great door with some sort of crest or something carved in stone over the top. The second picture is of a house – a tower – on the edge of some water – a tower with an imposing arched doorway – the same door, I guess. It looks like a castle really. The other present was this – look.’

Marnie fished inside her jersey and pulled out a gold locket on a fine chain. It was engraved with the initials L.A.D.G. She pulled the chain over her head and opened the locket to reveal a miniature head-and-shoulders portrait of a little girl – obviously the same child as in the photograph – a little girl in a white lace dress; a beautiful child with brilliant blue eyes and long, red hair held back from her face by a bow tied on the top of her head. ‘I always wear it,’ Marnie said. ‘It gives me a link with her because she showed it to me one time when I went to visit her in her room. You don’t know how much I long to be able to thank her for what she’s done for me . . . and I don’t mean just the money. She had no reason to care for me, but for the first time in my life I felt someone liked me and valued me just for myself. I said this morning that it only takes one person to change your outlook. She changed mine.’

‘You must have given her something special too,’ insisted Louisa. ‘She’d never have done all that if you hadn’t made a huge impression on her. She must have loved you – and from what you say it doesn’t sound as if she was used to loving children, only her Italian husband. Didn’t they have any family of their own?’

‘There was a little boy who died. I think he only lived for a few hours. Anyway, apparently she couldn’t have any more. Her diaries of that period make heartbreaking reading. But there’s no doubt her husband, Carlos, adored her and it was a great, great love for both of them that lasted all their lives. I can’t imagine that sort of love. Apparently he died unexpectedly of a heart attack a few months before I met her and she couldn’t cope with life without him at all.’