She glowered. ‘He liked his whisky a bit too much, kept calling for Frank to go out with him several nights a week. I was being left on my own a lot and it couldn’t carry on. The bugger only wanted a drinking partner, if the truth be told. Anyway, it was the ruin of him in the end – you can’t climb a roof drunk and not expect there to be consequences.’

‘Oh dear.’

Mrs Barley began to drum her fingers on the album. I hastened to steer the discussion away from the subject of the errant Len.

‘You – you had no children, then?’ I ventured falteringly.

The old woman’s eyes narrowed and her face hardened. I realised I’d touched a nerve and could have kicked myself.

‘I’m so sorry. It’s really none of my business. I didn’t mean to pry …’

She paused, avoiding my gaze. ‘It’s natural that you should wonder. We weren’t … blessed in that way. But we had each other. Even if it wasn’t forever. I’ll always be grateful for that.’

The atmosphere had become almost oppressive. I stayed for another ten minutes or so, making small talk, then made my excuses to leave. From the doorway, I indicated the magazine I had left on the dining table.

‘By the way, I brought this for you, Mrs Barley – I thought you might like to read the feature I wrote about the village.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You finished it, then?’

‘Eventually – I did have a bit of a computer glitch, but I managed to get it done, thankfully.’

She stared at the magazine with a face that could have turned milk sour. Her reaction was baffling.

I cleared my throat. ‘You could probably have given me a few interesting facts and figures yourself – I should’ve interviewed you!’

This prompted a scowl. ‘No one round here would want to hear anything I’ve got to say. Or they’d rubbish it.’ She put on her glasses and squinted as she leafed through to the relevant pages.

‘Oh, there are photographs.’ She looked up at me almost accusingly. ‘Where’d you find these?’

‘You can find a lot of information online – and Jack bought me a wonderful book about Avoncote. The history of the place is fascinating.’

She thrust the magazine back at me. ‘Yes. Well, I don’t think I want to know any more about this place, thank you all the same.’

I must have looked wounded – I certainly felt it. Her expression softened.

‘Please don’t take it personally. I don’t really read magazines, if I’m honest. But well done for having your piece published. Oh, just a minute …’ She raised an index finger. ‘Before you go. There’s something I’d like you to have.’ Going back to the sideboard, she took out one of the baubles I had noticed earlier and pressed it into my hands. ‘To bless your home.’