‘Do you want to talk?’ He brought his hand to her chin lifting it, so she had to look at him even though she didn’t want to.

‘About what?’ His eyes were so intense and so honest.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘The elephant in the room.’

She turned away. ‘It wasn’t a dog.’ Walking to the fireplace she put the china dog in its correct position.

He frowned.

‘They had a spaniel.’

‘Right.’ He came to her side. It was hard to focus but she needed to.

‘My grandmother killed someone, and it is clearly distressing her.’ It just didn’t fit the grandmother she knew. Beautiful flower arrangements and superb meals fitted Gran, not killing someone . . . not someone . . . him.

‘It’s in the past.’ He threaded his fingers through hers. It was so tempting to let it go but she wasn’t going to. Gran felt it was important enough to use what might be her last words confessing it.

‘It won’t help anyone.’

She cocked her head to the side. ‘Look, it’s not really your business, Alex.’

‘I heard her too.’ He stepped back.

Taking a breath, she said, ‘I know but she wasn’t talking to you, but to me.’

‘It could have been drug induced.’

‘It wasn’t. She’s refused drugs.’ Lottie shuddered.

He sighed. ‘She was confused.’

‘No, she wasn’t.’ Lottie huffed. ‘This isn’t your problem.’ She left him there and walked through to the hallway. She should be grateful for his help and not cross with him, but she was. Her grandmother had just confessed to killing someone and he was trying to tell her what to do. Why on earth should she listen to him? She should call the police. She stopped, closing her eyes. No, she wouldn’t do that. That wouldn’t help anything or anyone right now. But she had to do something.

Opening her eyes, she bolted up the stairs and went straight to the closet where Mrs Hoskine had said she had put all the personal things. Lottie had no idea what she might find in there, but anything would be a start.

44. Joan

44

Joan

4 August 1962, 4.00 p.m.

Tom walks across the lawn and takes the path to the sea. The others will be dropped off any time now. I have watched the yacht make its way into the bay. Picking up my father’s old binoculars, I make out Diana at the helm. It takes me a while to locate Allan. He’s stripped to the waist and leaning over the American, Beth Venn, handing something to her husband, Ralf. They are all too close together. My breathing quickens, and I put the binoculars down, racing out the door towards the path. In moments I have caught up with Tom. Glancing back at the house, I see George standing at the window in his room, watching.