I found myself in a large, comfortable parlour. If the house were mine I would have called it the red room. That’s how it struck me as I stood in the doorway. Three of the walls were papered in a pillar-box shade and the curtains that covered the windows on the far wall were a rich crimson. The three-piece suite was cherry coloured, enlivened with cream swirls. Even the sideboards that stood against the wall to my left seemed to have been varnished with a red-tinged polish. It felt as if I had climbed inside somebody.

Mrs Parker was sitting in the high-backed chair beside the fire. The coals glowed scarlet, melding with the pinkish light that emanated from a lamp by her elbow, veiled with a ruby shade.

‘Mrs Hemlock,’ she said, turning, and she let the surprise show in her expression. She glanced at the carriage clock on the tile mantelpiece as if confirming her suspicions that this was not a civilized hour for visitors. Her face showed displeasure, which became more pronounced as Flick followed me into the room. ‘And Mrs Goose. Good heavens, are we under attack?’

Had I said it, I’d have made it sound sarcastic. But Mrs Parker did not seem to be joking. Her face was horribly serious. I suddenly felt as though I had been called to see the Mother Superior for a lesson in wickedness.

‘We’re so sorry to intrude,’ said Felicity, looking around her. She moved to stand beside me and I felt her fingers brush the back of my hand.

‘And what’s this about?’ asked Mrs Parker, beginning to stand. She was wearing a cream cardigan over a blue dress. She clashed with the room.

‘It’s a silly thing really,’ said Flick, nervously. She wasn’t used to such places. In her life, people greeted visitors with tea and cake and warm towels. We felt like intruders about to be told off for our thoughtlessness.

Suddenly Mrs Parker’s face softened. It was an incredible transformation. One moment she had been stern and brittle and the next she seemed to unstiffen at the edges. Her face became rounder, plumper as she smiled and then she was crossing the room and extending her hands to me as if we were friends.

‘I’ve been thinking of you,’ she said and I found she had taken my hands in hers. She spoke into my eyes, intense and deliberate. ‘Has it been terrible? I so wanted to come and call but you seemed so insistent on being left alone to grieve and we never once saw your curtains open. I’m so pleased you have found a friend. But truly, there’s no need to thank us for being there at the end. We did all we could.’