‘You mean about Derek,’ corrected Lili, her fingers busy with a curl of scarlet paper. ‘I think he’d hate her, and he’d marry her and hate her more and more, and when she wept at his unkindness he would say, "Don’t blame me for your unhappiness, my dear. It’s your father who has done this to you. You are incurably deformed in spirit, a filthy and unnatural creature, blighted beyond redemption. There is nothing I can do to help you. Lie down and…"’

‘Syl doesn’t talk like that,’ I said. My voice was harsh.

She put her head on one side. ‘Doesn’t he?’ she said.

I knew that part of what she said was true. The revelation would not stop Syl from marrying Margaret. He would say that the outrage upon her made it more compelling that he should marry her, and look after and protect her. Everything she said was true.

‘Margaret would hate him,’ I said. ‘She would hate him for knowing that about her.’

‘But then,’ said Lili, ‘on the other hand, he might never tell her what he knew. She might never know. She might never know why he hated her.’

‘Are you sure,’ I said, ‘...are you sure she doesn’t remember?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Lili. ‘Couple of weeks ago—do you remember—we had tea with you and on the way home she wanted to talk. She wanted to confess something. Now you know me. I cannot keep my mouth shut. If I keep it shut sober, I open it drunk. So I told her not to tell me. She trusts me, you see, poor little bitch. Now I think I know what she wanted to tell me—I gathered a lot from Marie Claire between the lines—and if she was prepared to tell me that, it wouldn’t take much to make her tell me anything. No—she doesn’t remember.’

‘Why wouldn’t you listen to her?’ I asked.

‘Because,’ said Lili patiently, ‘if it all came out, if somebody—anybody—talked about it, she’d think it was me. And she trusts me. I like being trusted. Besides,’ she added with patent honesty, ‘as I already knew what it was I wasn’t consumed with curiosity.’

‘What was it?’ I asked.

‘Not going to tell you,’ said Lili.

‘What are you making?’ I asked.

‘Flowers,’ said Lili, ‘for the wedding. For decoration. It’s a secret. Don’t tell.’

Without shame I felt helpless tears roiling down my cheeks. ‘Oh Lili,’ I said.

She didn’t get up, but leaned across and put her hand on mine. Her fingers were stained scarlet.

‘There won’t be a wedding,’ she promised.

For some reason I believed her: possibly because there was nothing else I could do. I was as weak and dispirited as a newborn child exposed on a river bank. I had seen a dead kingfisher once on a riverbank...