‘Don’t take on too much, my love. I know you’re so much better, but you mustn’t get overtired.’

‘Don’t worry. We come first. I’ll do all I can to help our Whisper Fen neighbours but not at the expense of my health.’

Liz told him that she loved him and very reluctantly he hung up.

* * *

The two men ate breakfast together. Matt offered to let Will go alone to meet his niece and her friend’s family, but Will was having none of it. He was far from certain how he was going to cope with meeting Sophie again under these tragic circumstances, and he wanted Matt’s calming presence.

They set off for the Fauve home with Mitch as chauffeur. Will had no wish to meet his niece for the first time in years while standing by two gaping holes in a cemetery lawn.

His heart was racing as they drew up outside Philip and Annette’s big family home. He had rehearsed a million things to say to the little girl, but as they stepped out of the car, he forgot them all.

Before he could collect himself, Sophie had run down the path and thrown herself into his arms.

‘Uncle Will! I’m so glad you’ve come!’ she said.

She clung to him for what seemed like hours. When she finally let him go, he held her at arms’ length to look at her properly.

He was astounded. It was as if he were looking down at his little sister.

‘Sophie! You’re the image of your mother!’ Will said.

She lowered her head and quietly began to cry.

‘Your mum was a very beautiful woman, and you are going to be just the same. Be proud of that, sweetheart.’

‘I am, Uncle Will. But I miss her so. I miss Daddy too, but he was away so much. Mummy was always here, and now . . .’ Her voice quavered.

He kissed the top of her head. ‘First, I want you to meet my friend Matt, then perhaps you’d like to take me to meet your friend Françoise?’

Sophie smiled at Matt and stuck out her hand. ‘You look nice! Thank you for coming all this way with Uncle.’ She turned back to Will. ‘You’ll like Françoise. She’s funny. My doctor says she is just what I need right now. Come on, Uncle.’ She pulled him towards the house.

A slender blonde woman of about Eva’s age smiled at him from the entrance hall. She wore jeans and trainers with a baggy pink sweatshirt emblazoned with the words “Sloppy Joe.” Behind her stood her husband, tall and broad. He had a clipped moustache and his auburn hair was cropped in military fashion. He would have looked severe if he hadn’t been smiling broadly.