She pauses for a spell, considering the question. Her eyes, brilliantly blue, seem to darken with the effort of concentration. Eventually she gives a tight little smile, as if she’s worked out the answer and doesn’t feel the need to share it.

‘I don’t think I’m on the side of the angels,’ she says, candidly. ‘But I’d like to think I’ve had some of the devils running scared.’

Fergus makes a note of the line. Picks up his bag. One of the compartments is slightly open. Cordelia notices and reaches in without a word. She removes the little recording device. She opens it up and takes the tape. Crosses to the Rayburn and opens the cast-iron door, tossing the recording on the fire. She doesn’t say a word to Paolo Fergus, who stands in the doorway looking embarrassed.

‘She’s enjoyed talking to you,’ says Cordelia, as if nothing has passed between them. ‘You’ve kept her memory sharp. For that, I’m grateful. Use what you can, ignore the rest. Don’t make me look like a prima donna or a poor girl done good or I’ll have your kneecaps. Are we clear?’

He nods. Feels an overwhelming urge to kiss her on the cheek and then run away. She has the look of somebody who doesn’t like killing, but has done her fair share.

‘She mentioned another incident,’ he says, standing on the doorstep and watching the rain. ‘How you met. Some body in a blue suit up at the cemetery. Could you maybe fill me in?’

‘That one belongs to my grandson,’ apologizes Cordelia. ‘He’ll tell that one when we’re both dead and gone.’

‘But you have more,’ says Fergus, eagerly. ‘Between you, you must have more stories to tell.’

Cordelia smiles. Looks at the ceiling and imagines her friend laying there, sulking, waiting for her cup of tea. Gives her attention back to Fergus and briefly enjoys feeling young again.

‘There’s always more.’ She smiles.