Admittedly, with the rain beginning to drizzle onto the wet grass in the centre of the quad, the scene was not quite the Duomo in the soft autumn sun, but the gracious sandstone buildings, with their old mullioned windows surrounding her on every side, felt comfortingly safe.

Turning into one of the entrances, Jazz walked to her parents’ rooms and knocked on the door. It was unusual for married lecturers to live in halls, but the ground-floor accommodation had provided the perfect solution to her father’s physical limitations.

The university had been very supportive after the shooting, offering both her father and mother their old positions back at Trinity College. In the end, her father had never been able to take up the offer, being deemed too fragile by his doctors to take on the burden.

But it was Celestria, Jazz’s mother, who provided for them both. She lectured in English and in the years since Tom had been disabled, she’d gone from strength to strength, recently publishing an acclaimed book criticising the dwindling use of correct grammar and punctuation in today’s society. It had been an unexpected bestseller and would provide them with a nest egg for their retirement.

Which didn’t mean Tom Hunter was idle. He filled in for the chaplain occasionally, taking services and giving the odd Theology lecture. He was also known by the students at Trinity to be a dependable, listening ear if they were in trouble.

The college had also been helpful in converting the rooms to make it easier for Tom to be self-sufficient, and he could zip out of the flat unaided in his electric wheelchair, giving both him and his wife a welcome feeling of independence.

They were the perfect example of two people who had adapted to adversity and made it work. Jazz was very proud of them both.

She knocked on the front door and pushed it open. ‘It’s me!’

‘Jazz! For heaven’s sake! Come on in.’

She walked through the hall into the small sitting room to see her father working at his overflowing desk.

Tom’s face lit up with pleasure when he saw his daughter. He threw open his arms to embrace her.

‘Hello, darling. Good to see you.’

She extricated herself and studied his elfin features. At only five foot six, he was four inches shorter than his wife and daughter. However, what Tom lacked in stature, he made up for with the force of his personality.

‘How’s the heart? Mum said you’d had some tests?’

‘Ticking, as usual,’ Tom said. ‘I’m a good boy, Jazz, and I take my tablets every day. Really, I feel as well as I did twenty years ago. I wish everyone would stop fussing.’

‘Dad, you had a serious heart attack on that operating table.’

‘But I’ve survived,’ he winked at her. ‘For fourteen years, so far. Glass of wine for you?’ Tom indicated the bottle placed on the coffee table.

‘Lovely. Where’s Mum?’

‘Out at some drinks do at Kings. She’ll be back any minute. Pour one for me as well, will you?’