Liza thought about how friendly he’d been. And how he’d helped her mother. “It must be difficult trying to lead a normal life when you are high profile.”

They arrived back at the house and Angie dug in her bag for her car keys.

“You’re probably right. But if you happen to see him make sure you tell him I’m available.” Laughing, she unlocked her car and threw her bag on the passenger seat. “Thanks for the picnic. This was fun.”

Liza waved her off and then headed straight to the summerhouse, desperate to get back to her painting.

The afternoon passed without her noticing and it was hunger that eventually drove her back to the house.

Her hair was stiff from her swim in the sea earlier and she intended to take a shower, but first she wanted to watch some episodes of The Summer Seekers.

She made a quick snack, found the key in her mother’s bedroom and unlocked the study.

Every available space in the room was taken. Bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling against two of the walls. The other walls were covered with maps. Two large windows let in the light and showed every speck of dust. And there was plenty of it. The desk in the corner was piled high with more maps, guidebooks and stacks of papers.

And there, in prime position, was her art award.

Her mother had moved it from Liza’s old bedroom into the study where she could see it.

Liza felt a pressure in her chest. She’d had no idea. She never came into this room.

She touched the award, remembering that day she’d seen her mother clapping loudly in the audience.

She’d wanted so badly for her mother to be more demonstrative, but sometimes it wasn’t about what you said, it was about what you did. She wouldn’t have kept the award if she wasn’t proud, would she?

Liza forced herself to focus on the shelves. She found the guidebooks, but there was no sign of the DVDs.

Searching randomly, she pulled open the large drawer in the desk and there were the DVDs.

“Aha!” She pulled them out and was about to close the drawer when something glinted. She reached into the drawer to investigate and found a ring. The stone was huge. It couldn’t be a real diamond. Could it?

She lifted it out carefully. It had to be fake.

Was it fake?

She turned it over in her hand.

Who had given it to her mother? This wasn’t her engagement ring. Her mother’s engagement ring was an emerald and it was always on her finger.

This ring had been tucked loose under a piece of string holding a bunch of papers.