Lizzie found a teapot, warmed it and added three bags. She imagined Avery wouldn’t approve of weak tea. The croissants were crispy and she found the butter and milk Jules had stocked up with.

“Heavenly,” she said, as the heating hummed into life and Avery re-entered the kitchen, dusting her palms. “Thank you so much.”

“They aren’t homemade croissants,” Avery said. “I am terrible at cooking and I hate baking with a passion but we do have a couple of excellent delicatessens in town that stock wonderful bread.” She was rummaging in the cupboard. “Here we are; your grandmother’s last batch of whisky marmalade. It will have matured nicely with all that alcohol in it. Ah, how we used to enjoy our nightcap of single malt together.”

“I don’t remember her very well,” Lizzie said regretfully. “I only have impressions of her really—that she was very tall, that she had hair almost the same colour as mine and that she smelled of one of those famous 1990s perfumes. Was it Coty? I remember the bottles. They were so elegant! I wanted to be like her when I grew up.”

“Vanilla Fields.” Avery smiled. “Yes, she was a very elegant woman. You have a great look of her. I often think—” She stopped.

“What is it?” Lizzie had a mouth full of delicious croissant; not very elegant at all. Her grandmother would not have been proud of her.

Avery shook her head. “Oh, just what a terrible tragedy it all was,” she said. The light had gone out of her eyes. “Like some sort of appalling play, with everyone dying in a uniquely horrible way, first your grandparents, and then your mother. She should never have married Harry Kingdom.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry if I offend you, dear, but he was never going to be a faithful husband. To have multiple wives or partners plus all those other women; it has to be a sign of a very unsteady temperament!”

“He used to claim it was the triumph of hope over experience,” Lizzie said, “but basically that was just an excuse for his womanising. He’s not a very nice person.” She picked up another croissant. This one had chocolate sprinkles on the top.

“For a while I was afraid you might follow in your mother’s footsteps and fall for that squalid fellow the papers are so fascinated with!” Avery declared. She poured another cup of tea for both of them. “Oh, don’t misunderstand me. He is terribly good-looking and I can quite see why women adore him—after all, poor Amelia Robsart was dotty about him for a while—but they had a name for his sort in my mother’s day, you know, dear. He would have been spoken of as a cad.”

“You’re talking about Dudley,” Lizzie said, her lips twitching.

“Well, of course! Dudley Lester!” Avery shook her head in disgust. “He’s a dreadful lothario. I know you’ve been friends forever, dear, but don’t step over that line. Not that we think you have,” she added. “We all know it’s complete nonsense. We weren’t surprised to hear about Lettice Knollys.” She fixed Lizzie with her very clear blue gaze. “You need to find yourself a nice beau, my dear. Would you like another croissant?”