‘Thank you, dear.’ She sat in the old iron chair. It had had a new coat of paint since Lottie had last visited the garden years ago. Back then it was blue and flaking. Now it was black and shiny. ‘What do you want to ask my lovely?’

Lottie sighed. ‘Tell me about my grandfather’s death, please.’

‘It was terrible.’ She poured the tea. ‘Jacob, the fisherman, found the body and your poor grandmother was with Tom Martin looking for him, as were my Pete and your mother. They came to the beach and they found him. My Pete told me he and Diana were laughing as they walked the path to the beach not expecting anything untoward and then the poor mite saw him.’ She shook her head. ‘She went all quiet.’

‘No.’ Lottie shook.

Mrs Hoskine nodded her head with a sad expression on her face.

No wonder her mother didn’t remember, but why would she think it was her fault?

‘The whole affair was all a bit odd, if you ask me.’ Mrs Hoskine took a sip of tea. ‘Your grandmother came downstairs that morning looking for him and he wasn’t in the house. We all assumed he’d fallen asleep somewhere.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, it had been his birthday party and there was a great deal of alcohol consumed, judging by the empty bottles the following morning.’

‘His birthday?’ She had forgotten that.

‘Yes, they made sure they were at Boskenna for his birthday every year.’ She poured more tea. ‘Your grandmother threw the most elaborate parties for him and the house was filled with friends.’

She took a sip of tea. Gramps. Lottie had to ask about him for her mother, but maybe she had asked already. ‘Do you recall all the guests that were here then?’

‘That weekend is still so clear to me, unlike yesterday.’ She shook her head as she added a drop of milk to her tea.

‘I found Gran’s hostess notebook.’

‘Ah, yes, her bible of entertaining.’ She pulled the cake closer and picked up a knife. ‘She was religious about it.’

‘It has George Russell down as a guest.’

The knife stopped halfway through the cake as if it had hit stone. Mrs Hoskine’s hand fell away. ‘I . . .’ She blinked then rubbed her eyes. ‘I . . . yes, I think he was.’

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded. ‘He was younger and fitter and didn’t stay long.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Once he was interviewed on the Sunday he left. Some of their friends stayed on until the Monday.’ She resumed cutting the cake.

‘You’re sure it was him?’

‘Thinking about it now, yes. He hadn’t been before. He was in the attic bedroom.’

Lottie nodded and took the slice of sponge Mrs Hoskine held out to her.