‘Yes, of course. If that is your wish. As to the other work—’

‘Such a child is often kept hidden, you know. It was I who insisted otherwise years ago. We therefore have an obligation.’

He seemed nonplussed, but even so he nodded and she was glad of that. Again she closed her eyes for a moment, for she felt her breathing quicken, and thought to rest them for a moment. The solicitor’s voice continued, informing her of irrelevancies.

‘You understand, Finnamore, how that child’s father died? My granddaughter has explained?’

‘Indeed. I am quite conversant, I believe.’

Once upon a time, of course, there’d been another child: Villana might not have told him that, either. They none of them might ever have spoken to a soul, keeping all of it to themselves, as their childhood habit had been. A day would come, some time in the future, when nobody would know, when the truth would be buried and lie like some forgotten treasure in the ground.

‘I hope you will accept,’ she said to the solicitor, ‘that you have a duty in all this? You are a clever man. You are cleverer than the Rollestons.’

‘There is no need for this!’ Villana suddenly cried out, anger causing her to stammer slightly. ‘Finnamore must not be spoken to in this way.’

‘I do not speak to him in any way in particular. By saying clever, I do not insult him. You worry when you are old, Finnamore, that the innocent are punished. It is enough that poor Linchy died in error.’

Her hands, resting lightly on the arms of her chair, now pushed her to her feet. Sarah Pollexfen moved in some manner, as though to offer assistance. Lionel moved forward too. But assistance was not necessary, and they should have known it.

‘Be certain, Finnamore, that my granddaughter has explained the circumstances of our butler’s death. I would ask you to be certain. That is a personal wish.’

It was too simple just to say it was her grandchildren’s flesh and bones that should have been scattered all over the avenue. It was easy to avoid the heart of the matter, though naturally people would want to.

‘Naturally,’ she repeated.

No one commented. She had thought John James or Villana would make further protestations, but no one said a thing. Sarah Pollexfen remained where she stood, having sensed the rejection of her assistance. Lionel stared at a rug on the floor. John James leaned against the wall between two of the French windows. Villana played with her cigarette-lighter.

She thought she saw the solicitor’s lips move, no doubt wishing to acknowledge her requests, to affirm in his solicitor’s manner, not giving too much away. He had crossed the room and stood stiffly beside her granddaughter’s chair. She had made them all unhappy, she thought, and they were glad to see her go, being fearful of what she might say next.