‘No, thank you. We don’t have long.’

Even as she waited for her aunt to offer some kind of explanation, Kate wondered why she had come. What kind of answer could stem the raging storm in her heart?

‘I knew it was only a matter of time before you got here,’ Rose said eventually. ‘And the worst of it was that there was nothing I could do about it.’

Kate sat. ‘You’ll want to know why?’ Rose suggested. When Kate didn’t offer an answer, Rose shrugged. ‘You asked me why Simon and I didn’t adopt. The answer was that I couldn’t bear to raise someone else’s child, having chosen to destroy my own.’

She waited for that to sink in. ‘Simon and I wanted a child so desperately, each in our own ways and for our own reasons. He longed for a boy – someone he could come out here and play cricket with in the summer – and a girl to be the apple of his eye. He’d have spoilt them both rotten. And we tried.’ She shook her head again, a tear creeping on to her cheek. ‘My God, we tried.

‘My physical affair with Alan was brief, but somehow – miracle or curse – I got pregnant. It was after a period in which I’d been managing the logistics and finance for a big operation in Bosnia. No matter how much I tried to twist the dates and times, there was no conceivable way it could have been Simon’s.’

Kate waited once again for her aunt to deliver the killer detail, but it never came. She filled in for her: ‘You had an abortion.’

‘Yes.’ Another tear rolled down Rose’s cheek.

‘And Igor Borodin found out?’

‘Yes.’

‘You couldn’t bear to tell Simon the truth?’

‘I’d already confessed to the affair and he had taken me back. I had seen how much it had cost. I knew this would kill him.’

‘And what do you suppose it will do to us?’

Rose had no answer, for surely there was none to give. Kate had so many more questions yet none at all. It was done. It was finished. The Met, in their diligent, plodding way, would no doubt wheedle out the rest and Rose was smart enough to plead guilty to spare herself the humiliation and disgrace of a long trial.

Kate thought of when and how she would tell Fiona and Gus of this latest hammer blow, less than twenty-four hours after she had informed them of the loss of their father.

Would they even survive it?

Who could any of them turn to in their grief?

Kate stared at the grass beneath her feet, as if it was visibly shaking beneath her. How often had she sat here in the shade over the years? On how many days had she been grateful for the peace, love and consistency that Rose and Simon had offered? And now, like so much else, it had turned to dust. ‘What about Lena, and Rav, and Sergei, and Stuart in exile in Moscow?’