The room, which she could see was the living room of the father and daughter, occupied the same space as Aunt Hatt’s next door, but could hardly have been more different. A simple oval mirror hung over the mantelpiece, on which rested a very few objects; there was the workbench at the far end on which she had seen the silver bowl, a table for eating and two easy chairs by the fire. In the gas light she saw that the walls were papered in a parchment colour, strewn with delicate, rust-coloured leaves. It felt lighter and simpler altogether than next door.

A man had got to his feet from one of the chairs. She took in a tall, burly figure with a head of fuzzy, barely controlled dark brown hair and a thick beard. He was dressed mainly in brown, except for the cream shirt under his waistcoat, sleeves rolled up to show thick, strong-looking forearms. Above the beard, large eyes within a fleshy face – serious, sad, did she imagine the sadness? – were looking unwaveringly at her. Overall, this large, unusual-looking person, who had not yet uttered a word, affected her. Something about his sheer presence had a force to it.

‘I’m Margaret Hanson,’ she said, as her hand disappeared into his massive, muscular one; it gave hers a brief but bracing shake before releasing it again. She heard a tremor in her voice and felt foolish. What on earth was the matter with her? There was something overwhelming about Philip Tallis, his gaze, like that of his daughter, disconcertingly direct. ‘Daisy has been with us next door this afternoon – as I hope she told you.’ She tried to regain her natural way of talking. ‘Doing a little drawing. She is very gifted at it.’

She smiled at Daisy, who was looking up at her, radiant. The girl was holding a number of silver bracelets and a little dish which she raised to show to Margaret.

‘I made all these!’ she said.

‘Oh, aren’t they lovely!’ Margaret exclaimed. The bracelets were silver and of various patterns and textures. She took the bowl to examine the dimpled textures of the beaten silver, and the shallow, curving shape, primitive but effective. ‘You are a very clever girl, Daisy.’

The large presence beside her had cleared his throat gently, watching them, but still had said nothing, so Margaret turned to him.

‘I’m glad to meet Daisy’s father at last,’ she said, so brightly that she immediately felt foolish. But then, damn it, why did he not say anything? She was taken aback by her own irritation.

‘Yes.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Philip Tallis.’ Like the sudden and unexpected cleaving open of a rock, he smiled. ‘Nice for Daisy to have women for company. I’m grateful to you.’