Bella’s was the name I immediately thought of, and yet I had an odd conviction that she couldn’t be the caller. I hadn’t time to ponder why as I said “Hello?”

“Is that Mr Semple?”

Though the voice wasn’t Bella’s, it sounded familiar. “It is,” I said.

“Which Mr Semple?”

“Patrick of that line.”

“The father or the son?”

I wondered if I should feel flattered or less positively commented upon. “Which do I sound like?”

“You could be either. Phones do that to people.”

“Well, I’m the older generation.”

“People don’t always seem the age they are.” Apparently she needed to explain her doubts before saying “This is Hattie Dennison.”

“Miss Dennison.”

“I heard about your parents.”

I found even less of an answer. “Yes.”

“I was sorry when I heard.” Having reduced me to wordlessness, the old lady from the Stonefield cottage said “I hope you’re getting over it.”

“I may be.”

“It can take time. It did when my hubby passed. Please say if I’m intruding.” When I held back from doing so she said “I just wondered if they told you what I told them.”

I could only think her memory was failing. “You told me yourself.”

“No, the second time.”

My bewilderment felt too close to unease. “Which second time?”

“I’m afraid it was the day they had their accident.”

How apologetic did she need to be? “You don’t mean they were driving when you called.”

“No, they were just looking in at their office when I caught them.”

A silence meant I had to ask “So what did you tell them?”

“About whoever has been lurking near my house. I didn’t see it at first, but it’s the eyes that give them away.”

“My mother said something like that.” It disturbed me to realise “Almost the last thing she ever said.”

“She would have.” As if to leave this less ominous Hattie Dennison added “Would have wanted you to know.”

“I still don’t, so could you tell me?”

“The people who were here…” I assumed her pause denoted thought rather than reluctance. “I’m sure they were related,” she said.

“Me and my son?” I wondered if she’d lost her sense of my identity. “We said that’s who we were.”

“Not then.” Less directly to the phone she remarked “There now.”

“If you’re thinking of my aunt, of course she was related to us.”

“Not her. Don’t make this so hard for me.” After a silence that might have been designed to measure the difficulty I’d caused, Hattie Dennison said “The one that was here when she was.”

I had to think her mind was misbehaving. “Forgive me, but you told me she was by herself.”