There they were, the large bundle still held together by an old shoelace. All addressed to Madam Olivia and Madam Maxine, c/o Maxie’s fortunately unshockable parents.

Jeannie had always written on the postcards in vertical fashion, never landscape. She insisted she could fit more in that way. She’d been prolific, sending two or three a week. Even before the ink faded, they’d been hard to decipher. Jeannie’s handwriting had got tinier the more she had to say.

Maxie picked one out of the bundle. The photo showed an exhibit at the British Museum, an Egyptian cat. On the back was a dramatic account of a hitchhiking drama Jeannie had in France, when she’d been picked up by an elderly man she’d quickly realised had an ulterior motive. When he slowed the car, she’d leapt out while it was moving. A narrow escape! she’d written. Those gymnastic lessons finally paid off! I executed a perfect tumble and roll!

Another went into detail about an American girl she’d met on her travels, an accomplished shoplifter. No Catholic guilt for her! The American specialised in stealing bottles of wine. I’m writing this with a glass of fine Burgundy in my hand. Only the best for your travelling friend!

There were at least sixty more, from London, Paris, Rome, Barcelona, Dublin. Some featured just a few scrawled lines. Have been offered work as a chambermaid in Paris. Ooh la la! Several from Ireland. Learning how to pour the perfect pint of Guinness, to be sure! In an Irish pub in Ireland that’s in sight of an ACTUAL IRISH CASTLE!!!! One from Rome, describing a wonderful meal she’d had, with a P.S. that she’d run away without paying. The prices were a rip-off, anyway!! And on most of them, mentions of the different men she’d met, implying that she’d done more than meet them. I’m working my way through the United Nations!! she’d written on one.

As Maxie leafed through them, her heart felt heavy. It was as if Jeannie was suddenly in the room with her. All that vitality, all those adventures, her spirit leaping off the postcards. All of it now gone.

Thirteen years had passed, yet Maxie still could barely believe Jeannie was no longer with them. Wild, unpredictable Jeannie. Troubled, lost Jeannie. Their oldest friend. Their most difficult friend.

‘We have to tell Eliza everything we know,’ Olivia had once insisted. ‘She needs to hear the truth.’

But did she? What good would it do now?

Maxie couldn’t look at any more of these tonight. They were making her too sad. Bringing back too many bad memories. As she pushed the box and the postcards to the back of the cupboard again, she found herself in tears.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Olivia was tracking Eliza’s flight. In less than two hours her goddaughter would arrive at Edinburgh Airport. Which was why she was only half paying attention to this meeting with Lawrence.

Their general manager had updated her on their latest, excellent, occupancy rates. Outlined a new staffing overtime arrangement. Shown her quotes for the maintenance work needed for the refurbishment of two rooms after a recent water leak. It was all a courtesy to her. She knew he had it under control. He was always so reliable. Olivia had been concerned when the three-year contract he’d negotiated with Edgar came to an end four months earlier, but Deirdre had informed her that Lawrence had agreed to a month-by-month extension.