‘Don’t worry, Jenny. And no, I’ll be fine.’ He watched her pour the tea.

‘Has something happened, Mr Jones? Not wishing to pry, but you do look awful.’

He had a sudden urge to confide in someone.

‘Look, Jenny, can I trust you?’

‘Mr Jones, I’ve worked for you for fourteen years and never a confidence has passed my lips. Of course you can. Might make it better if you tell me. You know what they say about a trouble shared?’

‘Yes.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Hugh Daneman is dead.’

Jenny sat down in shocked silence. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

‘I know, it’s terrible news, and on the back of Charlie’s death . . .’ Robert shook his head. ‘This could bring down the school.’

She sat there, biting her lip, willing herself not to cry in front of him.

‘How?’ It was a muffled sound, but all she could muster.

‘He was found dead at home last night. The police think he committed suicide.’

Jenny put her head in her hands and sobbed. ‘Why? Why would he do that? Not Hugh, not Hugh.’

Robert looked nonplussed. He had been expecting Jenny to dole out sympathy for him and his predicament.

‘I’m sorry, Jenny, I didn’t realise you’d be so upset. Did you know him well?’

Jenny nodded. ‘Yes, I did. I’ve known him for nearly thirty-five years. I once cleaned for him before I came to work here.’

‘Did you really?’

‘Yes, and he was the kindest gentleman I’ve ever met. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, he wouldn’t!’

‘Hush, Jenny! Please, this is a secret between you and me. You mustn’t tell anyone.’

‘No, I know, I won’t, promise. Sorry, Mr Jones, it’s the shock, that’s all.’

‘Of course,’ he nodded. ‘Look, why don’t you go home early? You certainly stay later than you’re paid to most nights anyway.’

‘Thank you, Mr Jones. I think I will.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

Jenny was already heading towards the door.

‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes. And I won’t tell no one. Promise.’

Chapter Nine

Jenny put the key into the lock of her front door. Stepping inside the small entrance hall, she closed the door behind her and, legs finally giving way beneath her, she slid to the floor.

When she had finished crying, she picked herself up and staggered along the short corridor into the kitchen, where she slumped onto a chair. Even the sight of her smart new fitted units, the ones she’d saved up so hard to buy, couldn’t help lift her.

‘All these years of slaving, scrimping and saving every penny. And for what?’ she asked desperately. ‘What on earth is the bloody point?’

Jenny rose and walked slowly across to the kettle. She poured water into it and switched it on. Still in her coat, she wandered through the rooms of the tiny bungalow, which, as always, was as neat as a pin. Jenny searched in a pocket to find a tissue to wipe her running nose. She had worked all her life to be able finally to afford a small home of her own.