‘I was going to take her over to my house,’ the old woman continued, ‘but Denise said the cottage was closer. She said: “I’ll make the tea. We can sit outside and watch the birds,” and I said that would be lovely. But when we got there, there was a bouquet on the doorstep, lovely flowers all wrapped in Cellophane. I knew they weren’t from John – he’d never spend money on something like that – so I said: “Oh, Denise, looks like you’ve got a secret admirer!” It was supposed to be a joke but the blood drained from her face like she’d heard some awful news and she picked up the flowers and threw them over the hedge and she was saying: “He won’t leave me alone! He’s always sending me bloody flowers!” and I understood. Because having a man after you when you don’t want him after you is a dreadful thing, Marnie. Especially when you can’t get away from him.’ She paused and sighed.

Zoe was watching intently, her eyes flicking from the window to the women, and back again.

‘I still didn’t understand,’ Camille continued. ‘If I’d known what was going on, I’d have helped her. I’d have given her money, at least, or…’ she trailed off. ‘I should have done more for your mother, Marnie. If I’d worked it out I would have helped her, properly helped her. But I didn’t understand. And I can’t believe now I was so stupid because afterwards, when I read the letter… Marnie, dear, she wrote a letter before she died. A letter to me. A confession, or a warning – call it what you will. And it was all in there, everything except his name. Perhaps I didn’t see it because I didn’t want to see it. I don’t know. Sometimes, the closer something is to you, the harder it is to see it clearly.’

Lights from outside moved across the ceiling.

‘It’s Mr deVillars,’ Zoe said urgently. ‘He’s back already. He’s turning into the drive.’

Camille’s lips moved but once again, no words were spoken. Marnie was breathing fast.

Don’t stop now, she prayed. Keep going! Get to the end of the story.

The old woman beckoned Marnie closer. ‘I might not have another chance to tell you. My mind might not be so clear again. Edward tells me things to confuse me and then he says I don’t know what I’m saying. He says I can’t trust my mind, that it plays tricks on me, but I’m not stupid. I know I get things wrong, but—’

‘He’s getting out of the car,’ Zoe said, from the window. ‘Hurry, Camille.’

‘They looked so alike,’ Camille said, ‘Alice and your mother. I should have worked it out.’