Penny scowls. ‘I suppose so,’ she says tersely, ‘in his own way. But I still haven’t forgiven him for the Rolling Stones thing.’ I look at her, wanting to ask, Yes, but do you love him, despite that terrible faux pas?

‘Mum, I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Nick remarks, ‘but whenever you talk about Hamish it’s usually to run him down or complain about him …’

She blinks at him and shrugs.

‘He’s right,’ I add, catching Nick’s eye and quickly suppressing a smile. ‘But, you know, you have been together quite a while now.’

‘Well, he is good fun,’ she says briskly.

‘And you have just been away on the boat,’ I remind her, at which her expression softens.

‘Um, yes, well, that was lovely actually. I mean, he knows I’m not a natural boater but it was touching, the effort he’d gone to, to make it more comfortable for me. There’s a new bed, and bunting strung up, and cushions …’

‘He’s trying to woo you with bunting and cushions,’ Nick says, chuckling now.

‘Hmm, yes. The silly man.’ She smiles now, and fiddles with the ankle strap of her red patent shoe. Hamish, and even Nick, her own son; it’s as if she can’t resist being snarky about people who love her. ‘So, tell me this,’ she goes on, looking at me now. ‘How did I get involved with a boat man who’s invented this entire personal history based on one, silly little ice cream advert jingle that he composed about fifty years ago?’

I laugh. ‘Is that true? I mean, is that all he’s done?’

‘Pretty much,’ she retorts, ‘although he’s loath to admit it. You know what a terrible bragger he is.’

‘Well,’ I venture, ‘maybe he’s told those stories so often, he actually believes them.’

‘And the jingle was pretty good,’ Nick adds, grinning. ‘Catchy. You have to give him that, Mum.’

‘It was actually.’ She smirks, and the sparkle seems to come back to her wide, expressive eyes as she gathers herself up, smooths her honey-blonde hair and looks at Nick, then at me. ‘Anyway, at least he knows how to have a good time, and better that, I suppose, than being saddled with some boring old duffer.’ She shrugs, waving a hand, as if to signal that the topic is finished. ‘Anyway, about this show. I suppose I’d better get involved, hadn’t I? If we’re going to tell this story right.’

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Sixteen days later: Sunday, December 8

The enormous Christmas tree glitters magnificently in the dimmed lights. Smaller pockets of light illuminate tantalising corners of the main exhibition space of the museum. Spencer catches my eye and raises a brow, and there’s a quick smile before he turns back to the matter in hand.