‘Open the door or I’ll scream,’ I said when she didn’t answer.

‘How dare you,’ she said then. ‘How dare you come in here and ask me such things! Of course I didn’t kill Aurelia!’

She seemed genuinely wounded. ‘What about the diary?’ I asked. ‘Why did you put it in my room?’

‘What diary?’ she said, lifting her hands in the air. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

We stared at each other. I was trying to work out whether she was telling the truth and she was looking at me as if I’d sprouted a second head.

‘I’m sorry,’ I found myself saying while studying the shape of my knees. ‘It’s just … I found all the newspaper clippings about Ingrid. And Aurelia’s things that you’d been keeping in the attic. Derry said you’d been an artist.’

She nodded tearfully. ‘I was.’

‘Then … how come you’re working as a cleaner?’

She plucked a hankie from the shelf next to her and dabbed her eyes. ‘Many years after Ingy died, after the murder trial, I had a nervous breakdown. My marriage broke down. I had to give up my studio. I couldn’t paint. I couldn’t even stay in Norway. So I moved to London.’

‘Is that where you met Aurelia?’

She blew her nose. ‘Yes. I was stunned by the likeness. Completely stunned. And then when I found out her father was from Norway – ha! I was beside myself. It was uncanny. I kind of … stalked her for a while. When I found out she required a housekeeper I jumped at the chance.’ She tapped her cigarette ash into the ashtray and sighed. ‘I suppose I thought that by serving Aurelia, I was somehow continuing Ingrid’s life. The life she should have had.’

A tear rolled down her face. I suddenly felt rotten for accusing her of murdering Aurelia. She seemed to be telling the truth.

‘And did you?’

‘Did I what?’

‘Continue Ingrid’s life.’

She looked at me in shock. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘No, I didn’t. Couldn’t. It was an impossible task.’

‘Then … why did you stay on as Aurelia’s housekeeper?’

She thought about this for such a long time I thought she’d gone into some kind of trance. ‘I suppose … that was for selfish reasons. At first I could pretend, in a way, that Aurelia was Ingrid. It felt good to be close to her. And then, after a while, it was simply good to be needed. It filled a hole, you see. But now you’re here, I’m not needed …’

‘Of course you’re needed,’ I said. ‘Who would teach Gaia Norwegian? Who would keep the house together?’ I probably sounded unconvincing when I mentioned this last bit, but Maren took the point.