The fight had left Diana and she turned away, walking out of there. She should go back. The last words her mother heard from her shouldn’t be angry ones. Her mother had done her duty. Her father was a traitor, he had betrayed them all.

She looked down as she heard Lottie climbing the steps. Her heart tightened seeing the solemn look on her daughter’s face. Diana had left it too late to go and speak to her mother again. It was hard to breathe.

‘She’s gone, isn’t she?’

Lottie nodded. ‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Yes.’ Glancing down at her clenched hands she wished she hadn’t. It would have been better if she hadn’t known the truth.

‘Did she speak to you?’ Lottie came up to her and sat beside her.

‘No.’ She wished she had. She wished she had defended herself but all she had done was to look at Diana with sorrow and . . . love. Her mother had loved her. She swallowed before she asked, ‘Did she speak again?’

Lottie nodded. ‘One word: always.’

‘Always?’ Diana raised her eyebrows. She’d seen that word somewhere unusual recently but couldn’t recall where. ‘George?’

‘He was with her and so was I . . . and Alex.’

Diana closed her eyes. She hadn’t been there. She had managed to put even more distance between them by confronting her, by acting out. There was nothing she could do now. ‘I’m pleased she wasn’t alone, she was surrounded by love.’

Lottie grabbed her hand. ‘I love you.’

‘Thank you.’ She turned to her. ‘I love you.’ She stood, releasing Lottie’s hand. ‘I need to go and see her even though it’s too late to put things right.’

Lottie nodded. ‘I’m going to stay here for a bit.’

Diana stroked her daughter’s head. ‘It’s peaceful.’ She left and strolled slowly back to the house. Things didn’t feel real. Her mother had been alive when she left the house and now she was gone.

Stopping on the path as soon as the house came into view, she smiled. It was beautiful, and its position couldn’t be better. There had been love here and she had to hold on to that. Inside, the newspapers were on the hallway table and the flowers that Lottie had put there looked magnificent in the afternoon light. All was as it should be, except her mother was dead. She walked up the stairs slowly, trying to remember her eight-year-old self who had realized she’d played a role in her father’s death. That hadn’t changed. Her mother may have killed him, but she was partially responsible. God how she wished her mother was alive now, so she could ask for her forgiveness.

‘George?’ Diana tapped on the bedroom door. He was standing by the window looking out at the bay.

‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’ He turned, shaking his head.