Paul’s face was appalled. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, leaning towards her on the sofa. ‘Mum always called Uncle John a dirty old man, and I know my dad collects porn too. You must be gutted.’

Tears shot into Nina’s eyes. At last, at last, here was someone who really could understand what she was going through. ‘I think the worst part is feeling so alone with it all,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘I’m so glad to have found you and Emily, though I haven’t told her about the pornography, or the blackmail.’

Paul was frowning. ‘You know blackmail’s the kind of thing my Dad would do,’ he said, his face grim. ‘Threatening people is right up his street; he wouldn’t care that you’re his own flesh and blood. And after he lost the money he really had it in for Uncle John. You should be careful, Nina. He’s dangerous because he has no feeling for right and wrong.’

Nina felt her cheeks blanch. ‘I should tell that to the police,’ she said. How horrible, her father’s own cousin could be the blackmailer.

‘Don’t worry, they know all about him. And you said he was on your address list too? I should think the police are already checking him out. The problem is, nothing ever happens to people like him and Uncle John, does it? They’re much too good at hiding their tracks and they get way with stuff time and again.’ His voice couldn’t have been more bitter.

Nina sipped her wine, thinking. It was true that criminals like her father and his cousin weren’t always prosecuted successfully, but there was something wrong with Paul’s reasoning.

‘But Paul, whoever wrote the blackmail letter talked about screaming his head off and suffering; it was from one of John Moore’s victims. Your father is about the same age as mine, isn’t he? So George couldn’t have been a victim.’

‘Oh, my Dad’s clever,’ said Paul dryly. ‘Pretending to be some unfortunate ex-victim in order to get money out of John would be all in a day’s work to him.’

Good point, thought Nina, they had no idea how accurate the letter was. Paul sat there looking as if he was going to say more, and Nina waited. In the end, though, he changed the subject.

‘Let’s have a look at the newest photos.’

Nina showed him the pile of colour photos, and he sat down to examine them, refusing her offer of something more substantial to eat, saying he had to get back to his girlfriend in Newport Pagnell. He was able to identify both his parents and grandparents in some of the photos before he had to leave, and promised to have a think about the past and get back in touch in a day or two.

At the door he hugged her briefly. ‘Nina. It makes me sick to think you’re going through all this and it might be my dad behind it. If you need anything, or if you just want to talk, give me a call. You’re not alone anymore.’

Nina hugged back, closing her eyes tightly. Emily was a gem, and now she had Paul, who wasn’t exactly your strongman protector type, but he was nearby and he understood, and that was enough to help her deal with the knowledge that her father and his cousin were criminals. Low-life. Not the kind of people you could be proud of.

She waved goodbye as Paul drove off, then turned back inside, a picture of the farmhouse, the B&B sign waving in the wind, sliding into her head. She could be proud of what Claire and Grandma Lily and Grandpa Bill had achieved, and she would make damn well sure that her own daughter could look back one day and be proud of her too.

Chapter Sixteen

Claire’s Story – Bedford

‘What the fuck are you doing here, Claire?’

The voice came from behind and Claire swung round on her bench by the river, dismay obliterating her brief moment of peace. Robert was standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, glaring.

Claire swallowed panic. Dear Lord, coming here had been a huge mistake. She’d found herself with an unexpected day to fill, as the London friend she was visiting this week had been obliged to go into work to deal with a staffing emergency instead of hitting Oxford Street with Claire. A shopping trip alone, especially when you were only window-shopping, had limited appeal, and quite spontaneously Claire hopped on a train to Bedford. She walked through town and along by the river to see her old home. How odd it felt, wandering along the pleasant river pathway, looking at the expensive houses on the other side of the road. For a long moment she stood staring at her old home, resentment flooding through her. According to the phone book Robert still lived there, so he must be doing well for himself, even after giving her all that money. It was so bittersweet – she would never regret her marriage, because of Nina, but the thought that he was financially so much better off than she was made her blood boil. She sat down on the bench to recover, not thinking for a minute that Robert might be at home at two o’clock on a Thursday to notice her, but here he was. And what in the world was she supposed to say now?

She stared at him, eyebrows raised and a carefully polite expression on her face. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to sound calm. ‘I’m not here to see you, don’t worry. I’m visiting Carol this week, and I thought I’d have a look round Bedford again while I have the chance. I’ll be gone before you know it.’

He snorted, then to her dismay he lowered himself into the far corner of her bench. ‘Come to see the house you could have lived in, huh? Bad decision, Claire. As usual.’

He was as unbearable as ever. Thank God she hadn’t tried to re-establish contact between him and Nina. Claire stood up. ‘It was. And I’m not staying here for you to hurl insults at me.’

He accompanied her across the grass towards the pavement and the quickest way back to town, and Claire’s stomach churned in spite of her brave words. But there were people about; she needn’t feel threatened. She would walk away from him and go for a coffee before catching her train back to London.

‘How’s Nina?’ His voice was neutral, and she replied in the same tone.

‘She’s fine. At Brownie camp in Dunbar this week.’

‘Good.’ They reached the road and Claire was turning away when a thought struck her.

‘I left a lot of stuff here, Robert. I suppose you still have it?’

He snorted. ‘That junk. It’s all in a couple of boxes in the attic. If you want it, come in and get it.’

Claire thought quickly, unwilling to prolong the meeting. She’d left things like shoes and clothes that didn’t matter now, but there were some ornaments and trinkets as well. Would it be stupid of her to go inside with him? She glanced at the front room windows. One was wide open, and people would hear her if she screamed.

‘I will, thank you,’ she said, managing to sound calm. ‘You can bring them down to the study, please.’

Rather to her surprise he said nothing, and she followed him inside and waited while he ran upstairs. The study hadn’t changed since the day and hour she left this place; how very depressing it was. His Dad’s old desk and bookshelves. And the secretaire Emily had given her when she downsized to Biddenham. Claire gazed round in distaste. This house had never felt like home and her ties with Bedford had been broken long ago. Thank God.

Robert returned with two large boxes which he dumped on the floor, forcing her to crouch down, and Claire was glad she was wearing trousers. Ignoring the way he was standing there watching her, arms folded, she rummaged through the non-clothes box and found a fair-sized collection of memorabilia of her marriage. The blue vases she’d found in Portobello Road Market, goodness, she’d forgotten about them. And she’d take the Capo di Monte rose, it matched Lily’s – and Nina would love the costume jewellery. Beads and bangles were important nowadays; at ten, Nina was discovering the world of fashion.