Heather drew breath. ‘I felt sorry for her; I don’t think she had many people to talk to, still doesn’t.’ She took her time. ‘She’s a foolish woman, a vain one, a snob too, but I don’t think she’s evil. Your dad never liked us being friends, but yes, I think we were. Think we are,’ she corrected. ‘She used to talk openly to me while I cleaned. And I never made too much comment, just got on with the job, which I think suited her too.’

‘I didn’t know that, Mum.’ It felt strange to see their relationship in this new light and she suspected Heather had played down their friendship, because she was right, her dad would have had a strong opinion on it.

‘There are things, Merry, that . . .’ – her mum paused and looked to the fire, as if that was where the words might lurk – ‘. . . that happened a long time ago that reflect on her and on us in some ways. Things that maybe Digby is unaware of and that a woman like Loretta, for whom reputation is everything, might have felt too difficult to face.’

‘Could you be any more vague?’ Merrin was curious.

‘Why are you defending her? What kind of things?’ Ruby was, as ever, more direct, but still asked with a respectful softness in recognition of their situation, when on any other day, Merrin guessed, she would have yelled.

‘I’m not defending her, Ruby, just trying to explain. And as for what things, it’s not my story to tell, but know that for Loretta Mortimer one of the worst things in the world would be the feeling that she was second choice, second best. She’s spent her whole life trying to run from that very thing.’

‘Because she was born in a swamp?’ Ruby asked without sarcasm, but rather with emotion to her tone, as if her mother’s words had resonated.

‘Something like that.’ Heather smiled sweetly at her girls. ‘Anyway, I didn’t ask you both to come in to talk about Loretta; there’s something I need to do.’ She shook her head and slowly reached for her glasses and a folded piece of paper that lay on the table. The clock ticked loudly on the wall.

‘This . . . this is a little bit odd, but I’ve been given my instructions.’ She managed a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I have a letter to read to you, so pop another log on the fire and both get comfy. And don’t speak until I’ve finished – that’s part of my instruction: “Don’t let them speak until you’ve finished.” It says it right here.’ She pointed at the sheet of paper now nestling in her hands.