‘Well, I had sent Diana with Pete Hoskine to search the garden and I thought we might find Allan asleep on the beach.’

‘Why?’

‘Habit. Along with the watchtower he would head to the beach in the small hours of the morning to think.’

‘Had he been doing that recently?’

I pause. ‘Yes, actually quite a bit.’

‘Would you say he hadn’t been himself?’

I furrow my brows, knowing the truth. ‘No, he was on good form and loving the holiday despite the awful weather we’ve had until yesterday.’ I glance out the window towards the sea. ‘You’re not suggesting that he killed himself?’

‘It has to be looked at.’

I place a hand at my throat.

‘Sorry to distress you but it could be that he was drunk and went too close to the edge or he might have done it deliberately.’

‘Dear God.’ I pause, taking a breath. ‘I hadn’t considered that.’

I stood. ‘Can you keep this possibility far away from Diana?’

He remains silent.

‘She will have enough to deal with without thinking that her father chose to leave her.’

‘I see your point.’

I run my hand over the edge of the desk. ‘I will appreciate your discretion on this matter, for Diana’s sake.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Thank you.’ I smile.

‘We will need to speak with her.’ He rose to his feet.

I straighten a picture frame on top of the revolving bookcase. ‘If you must.’

‘I must, especially as Thomas Martin said he saw Mr Trewin coming out of Diana’s room looking worried at about midnight.’

If Tom were with me right now, I would hit him. ‘I see. Well, I gave her a half a sleeping tablet a little while ago so I’m not sure when she’ll wake. The doctor will need to see her, and I will need to be with Diana when you speak with her.’

‘Of course. There is no rush.’

‘Thank you. Do you have any further questions?’ I stand with one foot slightly in front of the other and clasp my hands as I was taught at finishing school. Poise, it had taught me poise and that was exactly what I need at the moment.

‘None for the moment.’

‘Very well.’ I nod and leave him in the office. How am I going to survive this? And what of my poor child?

82. Lottie

82

Lottie

5 August 2018, 1.45 p.m.

Lottie walked up the stairs to her room, her heart heavy. Despite the strong coffee at Mrs Hoskine’s this morning, she was wiped out. She needed to close her eyes for a few moments and gather her thoughts.

At the top of the stairs her mother walked towards her carrying a blue leather box.

‘What’s that?’ Lottie frowned.