He nodded. ‘Yes, it is, especially when it’s children or babies who have died. I was wondering . . . would it be possible for me to visit the deceased nun in the mortuary and say a prayer for her?’

‘Certainly. Under the circumstances that would seem to be very appropriate. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Yes. After one would be best.’

‘I’ll pick you up at around quarter past one,’ she said, knowing he didn’t have a car.

‘There’s no need to put yourself out. If you give me the address, I’ll cycle there.’

‘It’s no bother. I can let you know how my meeting went on the way to the mortuary.’

Jane savoured her last spoonful of soup and put the spoon in the bowl. ‘That was pure heaven.’

‘I doubt the angels make it as good as my mother did,’ he joked, and Jane laughed. ‘Would you like some more?’

‘I’m full, thanks,’ she said, patting her stomach.

‘Would you like some more wine . . . or a coffee?

Jane said a coffee with milk would be fine. Chris filled a kettle, put it on the hob and spooned some instant coffee into a cup.

‘Would you like to try some kwarezimal with your coffee?’ he asked, picking up a round cake tin from the work surface and removing the lid. He put the tin on the table.

‘Did you make these as well?’ Jane asked, admiring the inch-thick, oval-shaped, chocolate-coloured biscuits.

‘Yes. Basically, they’re made with orange water, cocoa, ground almonds and spices, then coated with honey and almond slivers. They’re best straight out of the oven, but I can warm some up for you.’

‘No need. They look delicious.’ She picked one up and took a bite.

‘These are to die for as well. What are they called again?’

‘Kwarezimal. It’s a traditional Maltese Lenten food, which derives its name from the Latin word Quaresima, meaning the forty days of Lent. During Lent, adult Catholics abstain from eating meat and often had these instead. They’re quite fattening, but I love them . . . naughty but nice,’ he said, picking one up and biting into it.

The kettle started whistling. Chris made Jane a coffee, emptied what was left of the wine into his glass and offered her another kwarezimal.

‘If I eat any more, I’ll burst. But I’d love to know the recipe for the widow’s soup.’

He opened a drawer and removed a worn leather-bound notebook with an elastic band around it. ‘My mother kept all her recipes in this book. Cooking Maltese food reminds me of my parents and my old life in Malta.’ He removed the elastic band and handed the book to Jane.

She noticed some old burn marks on the back, which made it look as if it had been dropped on a stove at some point. ‘Do your parents still live in Malta?’

‘Sadly, they’re both dead now.’

She realised they must have died quite young if Chris was in his early thirties. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wondering if he had any brothers or sisters but didn’t want to ask.