AURELIA MARLOWE

Ivy's fingers clamped round mine, and neither of us moved.

"Mr Blackwell," she said, far too brightly. "We were just admiring the mint."

"So I gather." His footsteps crossed the tiles, unhurried, and stopped beside the bench. "My wife planted it yesterday. She has a gift for making things grow in places they were never meant to."

I had no idea how long he had been in the passage or how much he had heard, and his voice gave nothing away. It was warm, almost pleasant, the voice of a man welcoming a guest, and from a man who had never once been warm with me, it was...