‘Why would Daddy hold Mr Venn’s hand?’ She frowns. ‘He’s not blind. He can walk without help.’

I swallow. ‘Maybe he stumbled, darling.’

My poor child has been here trying to make sense of it. But there is no sense in it. The most important thing is that she hasn’t told anyone. Maybe I can contain this.

‘But he didn’t, Mummy.’

I took a deep breath. If Allan were here now, I would strangle him. But if he saw his beloved Diana right at this moment with her face ashen, her brow creased, and her rosebud mouth chewed I wouldn’t have to. He would kill himself. ‘I don’t know then, darling. Just don’t think about it. Put it from your mind and never tell anyone what you saw.’

Her eyes are wide open. ‘You mean lie?’

I take a deep breath. ‘You know how I ask you not to repeat things you might hear or see to anyone when we are in Moscow?’

She nods.

‘This is the same.’

‘But Mummy what was Daddy doing?’ She gulps. ‘When they stepped outside, Mr Venn kissed Daddy.’

‘Darling, I’m sure they were whispering.’

Her little face is serious, and I can see her replaying what she saw in her mind. She must forget it, or I must convince her she saw something else entirely. But first I need to know everything. ‘Did they see you?’

‘No.’ She shakes her head.

That is something I can be grateful for at least. ‘Just forget all about it and I’ll talk to Daddy. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Try and get to sleep.’

She nods. ‘Can I read a few more pages?’

I kiss her cheek. ‘Yes, just five though.’

She snuggles down into the bed and pulls the blanket up over her head. I stand, walk to the window and pull the curtains closed. Below, my guests are drinking, dancing and smoking. My husband stands clutching a cognac in his hands seemingly unaware of the damage he has done. I have only one thought and that is to talk to Tom. But today has taught me one thing. I am truly alone.

64. Joan

64

Joan

4 August 1962, 11.30 p.m.

Eddie Carew is playing the piano and George Russell sits on the fire fender, his foot tapping to the Cole Porter tune. I study his shoes. But as with anyone who has been in the garden, they are damp on the bottom and have bits of grass stuck to them. I don’t know why I feel he could have been out there too, but I do. His glance meets mine and I turn away.