“Neville,” my mother said like her handclasp shaped into a word. “I’m certain everyone understood.”

“And sorry if you thought I should have lined up with you outside the church.”

Since my mother had relinquished my uncle’s hand, my father dealt it a manly squeeze. “You could have if you’d liked, old chap.”

“I didn’t want to presume.” Having hesitated while he glanced at Roy, Neville said “No, the truth is I didn’t know if you’d have someone else with you.”

“This little fellow’s mother took him for a walk, but even if he’d been there—”

“Not your grandson. My replacement. Thelma’s man.”

“I don’t see how you could have thought that,” my mother objected. “We wouldn’t have wanted him.”

“We had quite a few words with her about him,” my father said.

“Well, thank you,” Neville said, though the reason for his gratitude wasn’t clear. “Was he here today? You might know better than I would. I don’t even recall what he looked like, not that I’ve any wish to.”

“I don’t myself too well,” my father said. “Can you improve on us, Astrid?”

“I don’t think I’d know him if he walked into the room, and I shouldn’t think Patrick would either.”

“I only saw him once like you,” I said and immediately wondered if I was mistaken. As we’d entered the chapel I’d noticed someone among the trees on the far side of the graveyard. I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman, but I’d thought the loiterer was watching us. “And I heard him one night while I was staying here,” I said. “I don’t think I was meant to.”

“He was good at skulking all right. Made for it, he was so thin.” Neville stared around the room, presumably in search of him. “I kept hoping Thelma just wanted a break from me,” he said. “I know I wasn’t the easiest person to live with.”

“None of us are,” I said.

As Julia gave me a look more meaningful than I entirely welcomed, Neville finished surveying the room. “I’ve never seen the house so tidy,” he admitted. “I know some of that was my fault.”

“That was Astrid and me,” my father said. “We cleared up for the wake.”

“Did you throw much out?” Neville was anxious to learn.

“We’ve tried to keep everything that might mean anything to someone,” my mother said. “Some things we don’t think would. There’s a kind of diary Thelma started, but it might as well be blank for all the sense it makes.”

A memory prompted me to blurt “Where is it?”

“Where we found it. In her studio.”