‘Yes, yes, of course I am.’ She suddenly smiled at Lucy. ‘So here you are, Tom’s daughter. My dear, it’s quite astonishing that you have Angelina’s lovely hair.’
Lucy said, ‘Thank you. Mum is fair, too. It was always a joke Mum hated, that Dad married late and to someone who looked like his mother.’
‘It’s not the kind of joke I would find funny.’
‘No, exactly.’
‘It must have been an awful shock to lose Tom. It was for me, but much worse for you. Your father—’
‘Mrs Ashton, I’m a bit confused. How did you know my grandmother? And Rafe. I’m sorry if this sounds unkind in any way, but my family didn’t ever mention Rafe and I don’t know why. But Dad spent some time before he died trying to find out about him.’
‘Rafe was my husband.’
‘Oh. And the Wincantons, how did you know them? I’m so sorry if I sound rude asking all these questions.’
‘Not at all,’ Beatrice said sadly. ‘You have every right to ask them. I met the Wincanton family here in Saint Florian when we were children.’ Here she smiled, and Lucy had a sudden sense of her as a young girl. ‘I first met Rafe on the beach.’
On the beach. Lucy remembered a photograph of girls on a beach in Granny’s box, and the one on the croquet lawn with the four Wincanton children and the slight dark girl. It struck her now that Beatrice might have been that girl.
‘My name was Marlow then,’ said Beatrice. ‘Now, why don’t we sit down?’
She settled herself in the armchair by the fire that faced the garden and Lucy took the one opposite. She was thinking that this was one of the strangest conversations that she’d had in her life, but very thrilling.
‘My help Mrs P. left us tea,’ Beatrice said. ‘You wouldn’t be a dear and pour, would you? I’m not as steady as I was.’
‘Of course,’ Lucy said, reaching for the flask.
Beatrice pushed a plate of shortbread towards her and said, ‘I gather you’re staying at the Mermaid. Are you here long?’
‘A few days, probably. It’s a bit unplanned.’ Lucy gathered up her strength. ‘Mrs Ashton, I feel I haven’t explained myself very well. I came because of a mystery. Dad, before he died, was on a quest. As I say, I don’t think he knew anything about his Uncle Rafe until recently, and he became obsessed with finding out about him. I don’t know why, but my great-uncle wasn’t ever mentioned at all at home and I never saw any pictures of him. Until I found this.’ She put her hand into her bag and brought out an envelope. ‘Mrs Ashton, is this Rafe?’ She passed across the photograph of the boy leaning on the wall.
Beatrice took it and sat absorbed, her face softening. When she reached to give it back to Lucy, the girl saw that her eyes were watery.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s Rafe.’
Lucy sighed. ‘Mrs Ashton, would you tell me what happened to Rafe?’
‘I can, but it’s a long story. I’m not surprised your father was so interested.’
‘I don’t know what set him off. He loved reading about the Second World War, certainly. He left a whole lot of notes, and boxes of memorabilia belonging to my grandmother. That’s why I thought to come here, to see whether I could find out more. The whole thing had clearly been bothering Dad at some level, you see, and I just wanted to try to understand.’
Beatrice said, almost to herself, ‘He’d have been too young to remember.’
‘To remember Rafe?’
‘Yes, and what happened. No, this is silly of me. I’m telling everything in the wrong order.’
‘What do you mean, Mrs Ashton?’
‘Why don’t you call me Beatrice?’
‘Beatrice. What wouldn’t Dad have remembered?’
Beatrice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
Lucy decided to try another tack. ‘Mrs Ashton – sorry, Beatrice – I followed up Dad’s notes and found out that he’d investigated the War Intelligence archives.’
At this, Beatrice Ashton sat up straight in her chair, looking alert and rather terrifying. Seeing she’d struck a nerve, Lucy went on, ‘Dad had found out that Rafe had been in Special Operations during the war – you know, helping the French Resistance or something. Anyway, I don’t know exactly how he made the links but he looked up Rafe’s file.’
‘Rafe’s file? Did he find it? What did it say?’ the old woman demanded.
‘Well, that’s just it. He did find it, but it had nothing in it. Nothing in it at all.’
Beatrice sank back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her tone still sharp, she said, ‘I’m not surprised that it was empty. They never wanted everyone to know. Too much blame.’