‘She would have changed names, of course, if a book did get written, but people close to you might have guessed.’ Vera looked directly at the woman opposite. ‘Is that why you were so against the relationship between Hannah and Simon? You thought Jenny might share your secret if she got too close to him.’

‘Elias Jones was my grandson,’ Veronica said. ‘Those women let him die.’

‘You let Patrick die,’ Vera said, her voice quiet and matter-of-fact.

There was a shocked silence; again the sound of the river running high intruded into the house. Ashworth imagined a young child being swept away by it, rolled by the current until his face was under the water, being carried all the way to the sea.

‘That was an accident!’ Veronica cried at last. ‘Not the same at all.’

‘One child given away,’ Vera said, as if Veronica hadn’t spoken, ‘and one child lost. And the child that was left fell for your enemy’s daughter. Is that how you saw it?’

‘Simon could have done better for himself,’ Veronica said. But the reply was automatic and meant nothing.

‘Where did you take Connie Masters?’ Vera demanded.

Veronica ignored the question. It was as if each woman was hardly aware of the other’s words: each was pursuing her own line of thought, a monologue occasionally interrupted. It seemed to Ashworth that it was like watching one of those odd modern plays his wife took him to see at the Live Theatre sometimes. Two characters rambling on without making any connection.

‘Did Matilda really remember those visits?’ Veronica’s question came suddenly from nowhere.

This time Vera did answer. ‘Aye, she talked about them. To Jenny and to Michael Morgan. I went to see him this morning to check I had it right. They meant a lot to her.’

‘How much can she remember?’

‘The social worker bringing her in the car. She talked about a house with its legs in the water. That must be the boathouse by the lake? The place in the picture in your hall? The one at Greenhough.’

‘I always met her there,’ Veronica said. ‘My parents wouldn’t have her in our house. It was still a shameful secret.’ She looked up and asked the most important question. ‘Did Matilda remember me?’

But Vera had already leaped to her feet, almost tripping in her haste. ‘And that’s where you took Connie and the child. God, I have been such a fool! But why? Couldn’t you stand seeing them happy together?’ Then she fell silent and was still, her body twisted towards the woman, like a massive granite sculpture, and when she did speak it was quietly and to herself. ‘No, of course that wasn’t it at all.’