He leaves me outside the director’s office, where the sign on the door proclaims that Mrs. Theresa Shaw is In. But just about to go Out, as I see from the pleated transparent plastic headscarf she’s tying under her chin as I enter at her summons.

“Oh, God,” she blurts, with a stricken expression. “It’s not today, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” I extend my hand. “I thought I’d drop by and say hello, that’s all, before our service.” Her handshake is hot and agitated. I feel doubly awkward now. There she is, grabbing some free time and I’ve come along unannounced to fill it up in a most unwelcome fashion. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I should have rung, especially when you’ve got the river to deal with. I didn’t know a flood was coming.”

“Well, we don’t know as such. We look at the river and feel it. Something about the color, and the speed. Boiling tea with not enough milk. And do call me Terry.” Recovering herself, she pulls off her plastic head wrapper. “Thank God the service isn’t today, though. There, I’ve said it again. Something about the sight of a vicar and I immediately take the Lord’s name in vain.” She gives a musical little laugh. “Now, I’ll take you to the dayroom. It’s coffee time. We can remind everyone about the service.” She leads me out of her office and, at a brisk pace, down a corridor. “You know we bring a minibus to the church every month,” she continues, her heels rapping over the linoleum. “I’d love to make it more often, but the cost. I’m so glad you’re able to do this for them. Mr. Blakemore used to, but then, well . . .”

“Actually,” I say, “I’m also on a mission from Lady Brock.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Shaw comes to a halt.

“A scarf belonging to Mrs. Phelps found its way into a jumble sale. Lady Brock bought it, and now she’s not sure if she should have. I mean, the scarf is quite antique, and the family may not have realized, or noticed it, even.”

I pull the paper bag from my pocket and liberate the scarf. The colors look dark, the blue like a bruise, in the dimness of the corridor.