‘I think I might be. I’m researching my family at the moment and I found her name. Do you know where she is now?’

‘I don’t even know if she’s still alive. She went to live in an old people’s place near Luton, oh, about ten years ago now. If she is alive she’ll be about eighty, but she was always very fit, I must say. She went into the home, or maybe it was sheltered housing, you know, the kind of place where you can be quite independent but there’s someone to call if you ever need help, anyway she went there because she broke her hip and though it healed all right it was never as strong as it had been, and she had become very short-sighted too and she thought it was risky living alone as she did, which is quite sensible, though it must have been a blow to leave her house after all that time.’

‘Yes. Thank you very much, that’s very helpful,’ said Nina breathlessly. She made her escape and jogged back to the car, wondering if there was a Mr Peters or if Mrs Peters was so loquacious because there was nobody to talk to most of the time.

‘Right. So Emily Moore must be a generation older than John Moore,’ said Sam when Nina reported back. ‘And if she wasn’t married then she’s a genuine Moore and not a connection by marriage. That’s important too.’

‘I’m starving,’ said Naomi. ‘I found a pub with a garden restaurant up at the top of the lane. There’s a children’s menu but I’d like scampi if they have it.’

They had lunch in the garden of Naomi’s pub, then Nina and Sam sat with the laptop trying to find out about accommodation for the elderly near Luton while Naomi sat picking at the rubber band bracelet she was wearing, the bored expression back on her face.

‘Do you think if we start phoning round they would even tell us if she was a patient or resident or whatever?’ said Nina, staring at the depressingly long list of care homes they’d compiled. ‘They might have confidentiality rules or something.’

‘Very possibly. I think you should engage me as your lawyer. You are trying to trace family after learning that your father was alive till recently – perfectly true – and I’m helping you. People often give more info to a lawyer than they would to any old Joe Plumber.’

‘Okay. At least John Moore’s estate can afford to pay your bill,’ said Nina, and he pulled out his mobile.

Naomi sat with her chin propped on both hands while Sam called the first home.

‘Can’t we go back to the house now? At least I can watch telly there,’ she said in a low voice, her lower lip trembling.

Nina nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Naomi. You’re being very good. Extra Brownie points, you can think what you want to spend them on.’

‘Yay!’ Naomi beamed. ‘Brownie points’ was an old family tradition, awarded for particularly good behaviour and used for more expensive treats.

They adjourned to the house in Bedford, where Naomi commandeered the living room with the TV. Nina and Sam went on with their search in the study, Nina accessing contact details while Sam made the calls. All the homes were cooperative enough to reply that no, there had never been an Emily Moore from Biddenham in their facility.

After the eighth negative call Nina went to make coffee. She was organising mugs on a tray when Sam strode in.

‘Nina, I’ve found her! At The Elms, on the outskirts of Shefford. Emily Mary Moore, she’s seventy-nine, been there for ten years, from Biddenham. I told them you’d be in touch about going to visit her. They said she’s a nice old lady, quite fit and very bright.’

Nina inhaled sharply, clasping both hands under her chin. She’d found a relative who was a ‘nice old lady’. Tears came into her eyes.

‘That’s – amazing,’ she said slowly. ‘Thanks, Sam. I’ll see if I can visit her this weekend. But – a seventy-nine year old lady – can I really start a conversation about John Moore’s paedophilic tendencies and his death and by the way my mother was killed by a manic motorcyclist last month?’

He sipped his coffee. ‘Maybe in the first place you should simply introduce yourself as John Moore’s lost daughter. I imagine she’ll know who you are and you can take things from there. She could turn out to be a very distant cousin who doesn’t know much about your father.’

‘You’re right. But she might know if the other names on the list are relations too. And I could show her the photos. Sam – she might be my great-aunt. Oh, I hope she’ll agree to a visit.’

Tears were still pricking in her eyes, and Nina tossed her head impatiently. Getting emotional about it wouldn’t help anyone. But oh, she hadn’t known how good it would feel to find someone who was actually related to her.

And what would Naomi think about a visit to Emily Moore, she wondered, putting the phone down later after arranging with one of the staff to be at The Elms at half past two the following afternoon. Emily was out on a trip with some of the other residents that afternoon but had left instructions when she heard about Sam’s call, so wow – they were going to meet a relative tomorrow.

Naomi’s face fell a mile and a half at the mention of an afternoon in a sheltered housing complex, and Nina was racking her brains to think of something that would make the idea attractive to a ten-year-old when Sam beat her to it.

‘Tell you what, Naomi – and Nina. We’ll go and have lunch with my parents in Allerton tomorrow. Then Naomi can stay there while we visit Emily. Mum and Dad always have a crowd of grand-kids round at the weekend, Naomi, and one of them’s about the same age as you. I know my dad’s hoping that Amy’ll help him paint the garden fence and I’m sure he’d be very pleased to have another pair of hands too.’

‘O – kay,’ said Naomi, and to Nina’s surprise she smiled at Sam.

‘Won’t your parents mind?’ said Nina, when Naomi had gone back to the television.

‘My mum’s Italian. It’s family, bambinos all the way. And like I said, my sisters usually deposit their kids at Mum’s on Saturdays and go into town. I’ll phone her from the office – which reminds me I should get back there and do some proper work.’

Nina waved as he drove off. Sam was turning into a bit of a rock here and she wasn’t sure what she thought about it. Part of her wanted to banish her connection to Bedford and John Moore to the dim and distant past, but with Emily Moore nearby that was unlikely to happen now. And there were other cousins, too… And now nice-guy Sam was becoming someone she might – might – want in her life. In some capacity. Nina sighed, and went to join Naomi shooting bubbles on the internet. Her mind wasn’t going to be clear about this till she’d won some certainty about what had happened, and some distance, too.

Chapter Thirteen

Claire’s story – The Isle of Arran

Claire stood at the farmhouse door looking across the Firth of Clyde. The mainland was invisible today; it looked as if the sea went on and on, almost forever until it merged into the cloudy sky. For the first time since they’d moved here, the view failed to inspire a sense of achievement. The family dream of opening a B&B on the Isle of Arran where Lily had grown up was a dream no longer. Robert’s criminal cash had made the venture possible, but how little that meant today.

Her father was dead. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to Claire, much worse than the breakdown of her marriage or the suspicion that Robert might have been violent towards their child. That was all well in the past; Nina was at school now and was thriving. This would never go away.

Claire stared up at white clouds chasing briskly across the sky. It was almost beyond comprehension. Her father had been one of those tall, wiry people who could eat anything and never put on an ounce, he was fit – he played tennis and went hill-walking almost every weekend; he was a happy, easy-going kind of person, not even a whiff of a problem with his blood pressure – yet now he was gone. An infection, they said after the post-mortem, and it had attacked his heart.