For a moment my face showed incomprehension and then that was burned away by the open furnace of my anger. Did she think that’s why we were here? To say an overdue thank you for her presence at Stefan’s bedside when the fever took him? I hadn’t even wanted them there. They were ghouls, hanging around in the corridor outside Stefan’s room and disturbing the air with their low words. They wanted to bring me things. Kept asking if we needed water or blankets or extra pillows. They wanted to be in the room with me and I was too overcome by my emotions to keep them out. They had been standing against the bedroom wall as his heart finally stopped. They were breathing in the air into which his soul departed. It had always seemed they had taken something of him away with them.

‘That’s not why we’re here,’ I said, and my voice was barely more than a growl. I turned to Flick, eyes blazing.

‘What’s the matter then?’ asked Mrs Parker, dropping my hands. She turned to Felicity. ‘Is it your Brian? Really, there’s no need to pay us back. He’s not had much.’

‘Much of what?’ asked Flick.

‘He’s been siphoning the tractor,’ said Mr Parker, behind her. ‘Don’t know where he’s selling it but it’s next to nothing to be honest and I don’t mind a bit of ingenuity. He’s a bright boy.’

I heard the accent in Parker’s words. Forced myself to take control.

‘It’s Fairfax,’ I said, flatly. ‘There are some things we’d like to know.’

‘About Fairfax?’ asked Mrs Parker. ‘I don’t see as I would be able to tell you much. And Mrs Goose was closer to him than me. But I’ll help how I can.’

She pointed to the sofa and Flick and I sat down, shoulder to shoulder. Mrs Parker resumed her seat and her husband took the other chair. We listened to the ticking of the clock and the sound of the settling coals.

‘We’ve been going through his things,’ I said, talking to Mrs Parker instead of her husband. She seemed to be the dominant force in the room so it seemed right I address her. ‘Some of his writings.’

‘Well, he was always a one for his scribblings,’ said Mrs Parker with a faint smile.

‘We found a story among his things. Not one of his local history bits or bobs. This was like a real memoir.’

‘Yes?’ she asked, brightly.

‘It was about something that happened during the war. Something that occurred in France.’

She kept looking at me. I didn’t find it remarkable, at the time. Whatever she knew or didn’t know, surely she would have glanced at her husband.