‘All right. As soon as I finish this page.’ When she left, he turned the blancmange round again, and took another spoonful. He waited until he could no longer hear footsteps criss-crossing overhead, and then he exited the larder. He walked past the wreckage of the Christmas dinner, into the hall and up the stairs, pausing at the top. He knew precisely where the others were hiding; every creak and scuff in this house was familiar to him, and whilst in the larder he had several times heard a footstep hitting the slightly sunken floorboard at the western end of the first-floor passage – hitting it once and not returning. He walked softly past the row of doors, skirted the tell-tale floorboard and listened outside the lumber room. There was a taut silence within, broken by a frilly giggle from Miss Appleby. Noel was just debating whether to enter the room, or whether to leave them in there for a while longer, crouched amidst the umbrella stands and disintegrating taxidermy, when the front-door bell rang. It rang for a second time just before he reached the door, and he opened it to find a naval officer holding a bunch of holly.

‘Oh, good-oh,’ said the man, seeing Noel. He was fair-haired, with the regular features of a Forces recruitment poster and a boyish air belied by the crumpled skin beneath his eyes. ‘I was just beginning to wonder if anyone were in. Merry Christmas.’ Smiling, he held out the holly. ‘Terribly sorry, this is all I could find to bring.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ said Noel, politely, not taking it. ‘Do you want Miss Appleby?’

‘Miss Appleby? No, I don’t think so. Should I want her? Is it a rule?’

‘No, I meant …’

‘I was actually looking for Miss Simpkin. Miss Matilda Simpkin.’

The world swung like a weathercock and Noel had to put a hand on the door frame to steady himself.

‘She’s not here,’ he said. ‘And she was Doctor, not Miss. She died five years ago.’

‘Oh, did she? I’m so sorry, I had no idea. And I don’t suppose you know what happened to the child who lived with her? He’d be about …’ He paused, his gaze sliding past Noel and then jerking back to him. ‘Oh!’ He gave a huff of incredulous laughter. ‘I think I’m being an idiot, aren’t I – it’s you, isn’t it? Neil.’

‘Noel.’

‘Noel, sorry. Of course. Which means … well, I don’t quite know how to tell you this. Straight out, I suppose, bite the bullet – it means I’m your father. Here.’ He offered the spiked bouquet again. This time Noel took it – or, rather, a hand that was apparently his reached out and grasped the stems; they’d been torn or twisted rather than cut, and were bound together with a length of twine. A couple of berries rolled over his knuckles and dropped to the ground.

‘I know I’ve just given you a hell of a shock, but I don’t suppose you have anything to eat, do you?’ asked the officer. ‘I’m straight off the ship, and they’ve not given us a penny in shore pay. I’m absolutely famished.’