She found a quiet spot in the centre of the Rose Garden and sat herself down on the bench which circled the centrepiece rose bush. The smell of the roses was gorgeous and it reminded Steph of her father’s funeral and the posy of yellow tea roses she had placed on his coffin. Oddly enough, it was one of the few memories of that day that brought her comfort. Her dad had adored his roses and would spend many an hour lovingly tending them in his garden. It was a happy memory, and seeing roses, especially yellow ones, always made Steph feel that sense of love.

As she sat down she felt the corner of Elizabeth’s notebook dig into her leg. She hadn’t wanted to leave it in her room and, for peace of mind that she would know where it was at all times, she had slipped it into her pocket that morning.

She really should give Sonia a call to make sure she was OK after the accident.

Sonia answered almost immediately. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Yes, all fine,’ said Steph. ‘I was just ringing to see how you were after the other day?’

‘A little shaken, if I’m truthful, but I’m over it now. In fact, I’m quite glad it happened. At least that way it proves we, or rather you, are on to something. Whoever crashed into your car was trying to warn you off.’

‘Hmm. An anonymous note or phone call would have been sufficient.’

‘Someone must know something more about Elizabeth’s death.’

‘I agree, but it’s getting people to talk.’

‘You’ve got to find a way. Please don’t give up on me. Or Elizabeth. Please.’ There was a fracture in Sonia’s voice. ‘You’re my only hope. Don’t lose sight of the fact that this is my daughter’s life we’re talking about. My daughter was murdered. I know that. I feel that.’

Sonia’s belief churned Steph’s heart over and reminded her once again of the lack of connection she had with her own mother. Could you just feel things, know things, as a mother? ‘I’m not giving up. Not yet,’ she said, and heard Sonia sigh in relief. Steph continued. ‘Did Elizabeth have any friends up here? Someone I could talk to? Someone who might know something that you don’t? Someone she might have confided in?’

‘None that I can think of,’ replied Sonia. ‘She only knew the Sinclair family.’

‘What about her hairdresser or beauty therapist? Did she mention a salon?’ Steph knew she was clutching at straws.

‘I don’t remember,’ said Sonia, apologetically.

‘Wait!’ Steph almost shouted down the phone. The niggling thought that had been with her since she had rummaged around in Elizabeth’s belongings gate-crashed its way forward.

‘What is it?’ Sonia sounded alarmed.

‘You told me Elizabeth had a friend called Camilla, didn’t you?’