‘I’m not going to comment on that one, but your mother is a rare breed.’

‘Breed? Like a dog or an exotic bird?’

He stood. ‘You know, Diana, you are good with words.’

‘Thank you. I learned a new one today.’ She grinned. ‘Perceptive.’

‘Good word.’ He picked up her new diary on the desk. ‘Where did you hear it?

‘Mummy.’

‘Really?’ He tilted his head and his eyes met hers. ‘Who was perceptive?’

‘Uncle Tom.’

He put the diary down. ‘Of course. That’s the perfect word for Uncle Tom.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Have you started the diary yet?’

‘Yes, just a little while ago.’

‘Are you keeping it secret?’

She nodded. ‘Diaries are supposed to be secret. It’s for me only.’

‘Then make sure you keep it safe.’ He tapped it then blew her a kiss as he left the room. Diana picked up her diary and looked at what she had written so far.

PRIVATE

This belongs to Diana Trewin of Boskenna

She turned the page.

3 August 1962

Dear Diary,

I’m still not sure what to write about in this diary that Uncle Tom has given me. It is so beautiful. It’s bright red. It’s mine!

Today was mostly boring. The sailing was good but Daddy and I spent too much time with Mr and Mrs Venn. No one but me will read this so I can say that I don’t like them and no one can tell me not to say it. I want Mummy with us but although they haven’t told me I know Mummy isn’t sailing because she lost the baby a little while ago and she’s tired. I never saw the baby and that makes me sad.

Right now I’m thinking about the raspberries and cream that I had. Not for my pudding. It was more second pudding, I think, like the Hobbit’s second breakfast. Daddy finished reading The Hobbit to me two nights ago. My tummy is rumbling again. I wonder if they have even started dinner downstairs yet. They always eat so late. Maybe I’ll sneak downstairs after I read another chapter.

Running her finger over the words, she knew she would have to work harder if it was to be interesting to read. It was boring. She needed to be more perceptive in what she wrote, she decided.

17

Lottie

3 August 2018, 10.00 p.m.

It hadn’t taken Lottie long to unload her things from the car into one of the stables. Someone, probably Alex, had been clearing and cleaning up the outbuildings. For years these buildings had stored lawnmowers, garden equipment that had last been used before WWI, old barbecues and spare furniture. Most of it was now either gone or neatly ordered. She was impressed. Whatever his reason for being in Boskenna, Alex Hoskine had certainly made a positive difference in the outbuildings.

Before shutting her stuff away, well out of sight, she pulled out the key paperwork file. It was her business, her problem, and on Monday she would make a renewed effort to sort it, including a proper chat with her best friend and solicitor, Sally. Right now, she wanted to focus on what she could do to help her grandparents. Pulling the gate back, she caught her shin on a small metal chest. It looked like an old tuck box from boarding school, but it wasn’t hers. She picked it up to put it out of the way. From the weight of it she knew it had something in it.