Maggie glanced at me sceptically, as if she knew me better than I knew myself.

“What other hospital?”

“I don’t know . . .” I blushed. “A private one, maybe.”

It annoyed me, that sceptical look; it implied she had the right to probe, and opine, and expect straight answers. I didn’t even know the woman, and she didn’t know me. I lifted my bag onto my lap and pretended to make sure my phone was still there, and my purse, and my bus ticket.

“She’s not a close relative, then?” Maggie took another gulp from her bottle, but her eyes never left my face.

“No, she’s . . .” I hesitated. “Well, she’s the mother of my . . . We’re not close or anything; she’s not expecting to see me. She fell ill the other day, while I was out and—well. I obviously got the wrong end of the stick.”

Maggie tilted her head.

“Byrne,” she said meditatively. “Is that anything to do with Byrne Hall?”

“That’s where I’m staying at the moment, with her son.”

“Oh. And there I was the other morning, being rude about it.”

“Oh, yes.” I narrowed my eyes and repressed a smile. “You think the house looks like an evil face.”

“Sorry.” Maggie took another swig of her drink and started laughing. “Please, just ignore me—what do I know? I’ll tell you what it is: I’ve been prejudiced against it for years, ever since I got shouted at.”

I sat forward. “How do you mean?”

“Oh gosh, it was so long ago. I mean, like two decades or something. Me and my mates, we were in our teens, and we were messing about on the beach with a campfire and a few drinks. Anyway, this man comes charging down the cliff path with a little boy in tow, and he’s unbuckling his belt and yelling about how it’s private property and how he’s going to flay us alive.”

“Wow.”

“I’ve been swimming there ever since, on principle. Actually, that isn’t as brave as it sounds because the owner—I assume he was the owner—is supposed to have died or moved away quite soon after.”

Cory’s father, then? Cory’s father with a little boy.

“What did they look like?”

“Like two peas in a pod. Smug, tanned, sporty gorgeous types.”

So, not Cory? Surely none of those adjectives ever applied to him? Not in the way she meant, anyway.

I dropped the teaspoon into the empty mug and zipped my bag.

“It was nice talking to you,” I said, “but I’d better go.”

I swung my bag over my shoulder and scraped my chair back. The bouquet slid under the table, but I didn’t bother to retrieve it.

“OK, but listen, you take care of yourself.” Maggie looked at me uneasily. “And I hope you find Diana Byrne.”

I didn’t know how to answer that.