The reason for taking out the letters came to her. She wanted to prove that she had the phenomenal ability to recite extended texts from memory – without taking one little peek. Yes. Eleanor had re-read her letters a great number of times and she knew them by heart, word for word… Placing both her hands across the first letter, palms down, rather in the manner of one attending a spiritualist seance, she stared out of the window at the rapidly shifting landscape and started speaking.

‘Dear Miss Coreille – it was your voice my son was listening to as he lay dying. His blood had turned the translucent water in his bath scarlet.’ Since she had no travelling companion whom she might have been addressing, people passing by her table shot her startled glances. ‘You were the only one there. He had chosen you and you alone to share his last moments on earth. It was I who discovered him, you see.’

Eleanor felt like calling the waiter and asking him to check and see for himself that she hadn’t made a single mistake, but decided against it. He might get the wrong idea. The common herd, she had noticed, was wont to jump to conclusions. She sighed and shook her head. Perhaps she should do it sotto voce – or, better, in her head? I will be my own witness, Eleanor thought with a sad little smile. That, alas, was often the way these days.

She had flown over from Boston to New York. Alma, her niece, was getting married and it might have been the society wedding of the year, but Griff’s death spoilt things somewhat. Alma was extremely sore about it. Alma believed that Griff (short for Griffiths) had timed his suicide very carefully, out of sheer spite. That, she told Eleanor, was the kind of thing he would do, in keeping with the immature, theatrical, rather exhibitionistic side of his character. Griff was what Corinne Coreille would no doubt call un enfant terrible. Alma seemed to be equally cross with Eleanor, insinuating that somehow it had been her fault, the way Griff had turned out; Alma had implied that Griff had had an unhealthy upbringing, that Eleanor had been a terrible parent – the mother from hell.