Will left shortly afterwards. ‘I’ll let you know immediately I hear from Canada. I’m so grateful to you both, I can’t tell you what your offer means to me. But I’ll leave it until I know the date of the funeral before I tell Kate of our plans. I don’t want to give her time to start formulating excuses to keep Liz away.’

* * *

The call came on Friday. The bodies had been flown to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, where Guy had worked at the Canadian Forces Flying Training School. The funeral was arranged for the following Thursday, and a representative of Guy’s squadron was to collect him early Tuesday evening. The official had sounded surprised to hear that there would be just two of them attending — they had been expecting a large family party. Will had explained that he and his wife were Eva’s only remaining close relatives, and that his wife wasn’t well enough to cope with the long flight, so his closest friend had volunteered to accompany him. He would return the following day.

The mere thought of Kate all alone in Holland House, and Whisper Fen on a dark night sent shivers of dread down his spine.

Guy’s family had requested that their son and his wife be buried in the family plot in Regina, his home town, rather than the military cemetery, and Will agreed. His nomad of a sibling had loved the coniferous forests and the plains of Saskatchewan.

Will wanted to take a present for Sophie but had no idea what to buy for an eight-year-old. He tried to ask Kate, but she seemed not to want to even think about it. Finally, he asked her if she had a fairy painting they could give the child. Eva had begged him to send her Angela’s next book as soon as it was published, saying Sophie adored them. An original painting by her aunt would be a special gift that he was sure his niece would love.

Kate had not been particularly interested in his idea. It took him a lot of coaxing until she was reluctantly persuaded to look through her old work. Eventually, she produced a watercolour of one of Angela’s early characters, a fairy called Snapdragon. ‘You can have this, if you like. It’s a painting they didn’t use in the book.’

It was perfect. The character’s impish face grinned cheekily from between some tall, brightly coloured flowers.

‘Seems a long time ago that I painted that.’

Indeed, when he compared it with the sinister and macabre work that she was making now, Snapdragon might have been painted by another artist altogether.