He held out a business card. It was a square of white. It did not even display a name. There was merely a PO Box stamped upon it in black ink.

‘In case you wish to maximize yourself,’ he said.

She held his gaze for a second then took the card. She turned on him and led me out of the parlour and down the corridor. We did not look back. She opened the door and walked slowly down the steps and I realized I was hissing after her to stop.

She never did. She kept walking. Walked right across the grass and turned right onto the lane and stalked away from me, heading for her own house.

‘Cordelia?’ I shouted after her, and I realized she had no intention of turning back.

I walked home alone, jumping at every sound, startled by every flicker of cloud across the moon. John was waiting for me at the bottom of the lane. He’d been there for a while.

‘’Ow were it?’ he asked.

I didn’t answer. It would be a long time before I felt able to speak about it, and by then, all the lies had changed.

CORDELIA

There was a light covering of snow the morning of Christmas Day 1967. It wasn’t deep enough to get anybody worked up but it was enough to make the place look a little more festive. The weather had gone to more trouble than I had. My own attempts at decorating for Christmas were feeble. I’d hung some paper streamers above the fireplace in the library and my paltry selection of cards sat on the mantelpiece. Three of them were the same and carried identical pictures of glittery robins. The inscriptions from my old university friends were as saccharine and bland as I had feared. They were thinking of me, they said. Hoped to catch up soon, they said. It had been all I could do not to throw them on the fire.

I’d received a nicer card from Felicity. We’d seen each other only once since the night at the Parker Farm. She’d been walking towards the post office in the village as I was making my way back from sending a telegram to Cranham. He was holidaying in Italy and had urged me to get in touch if I needed any extra money for the festive season. Instead I had simply sent him my best wishes and told him to have a lovely time with his friend. There was a little grin on my face as I imagined him receiving it. It had been both a kind and a malicious act and the sisters would no doubt have called me wicked for such a thing.