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The following morning, I collided with Mum on the landing and we both went downstairs to explore the information in the red file I had collated. Our discussion with Danny had confirmed Aunt Ada had disappeared sooner than planned. We decided to investigate the blog posts and the newspaper articles about Bella Caron online. Not wanting to wake Dad because he would stop our amateur sleuthing, we did not switch on the kettle. I highlighted all the places mentioned and Mum circled them on a tourist map I found in the study.

‘It just doesn’t add up, does it?’ I whispered, closing the kitchen door. ‘Aunt Ada was following Bella Caron and stole her work. I’m worried.’

‘I can’t believe Ada took the pages of her novel. There’s definitely something amiss,’ whispered Mum. ‘Have you checked everywhere and looked in all her stuff?’

‘Yes, I’ve been through cupboards, drawers and searched every room. I can’t find the key to the potting shed yet.’

‘Have you checked her coat pockets? I always seem to leave keys in my pockets.’

‘Erm. No. Mum, did you notice Aunt Ada losing her memory?’

‘No. No more than anyone at our time of life.’ She continued to read a blog post. ‘Why?’ But she was absorbed in her reading.

Mum’s comment about the coat pockets prompted me to find Aunt Ada’s favourite wax jacket. The coat was hung up in the hall and released a musty smell I associated with my aunt’s house when I was young. When I felt inside the pocket, I retrieved a letter addressed to me. There was a stamp on the envelope, but she had probably forgotten to post it. I sat on the stairs and opened the envelope.

April, 2019

Dear Maisie,

I have to embark on a final adventure in Paris where I will revisit my youth and make some investigations into a missing story. I may not survive this final adventure, but I want to return to a time in my younger days and leave my life as a forgetful pensioner behind.

You have been a constant source of joy in my life, and it’s a bonus that you look like me and have some of my terrible characteristics. So, I know that I will live on in you and your children and leave a legacy for future generations.

Listen to your heart beating as you read this letter and let it remind you that you are alive. Live each moment and never do anything you don’t wish to do because you can never get those hours back.

If you ever get a chance to go to Paris then do it, my love, and walk in my footsteps.

With all my love,

Auntie Ada xxx

Resting my head on the wall, I reread the letter, reflecting how special our connection had been. It hurt to read the finality in her words. Surely she did not know the boat incident in Paris was going to happen. Though I wanted to cry, I knew she would not approve. If you ever get a chance to go to Paris then do it, my love, and walk in my footsteps. She was tempting me to visit her in Paris. Why did her adventure sound like the beginning of the end? But she did not seem afraid.

So, I know that I will live on in you and your children and leave a legacy for future generations. I felt the burden of this statement, hoping I would have children. But first I had to fall in love. It was unfair my aunt had never fallen in love again, and now I understood why she always wanted to talk about my romances and guide me.

Dad called me, ‘Maisie, love, there’s someone here to see you.’

In the kitchen, I was confronted with Felix’s perfect white smile. As always, he’d been ironed from head to toe. ‘Maisie, you wear your painting overalls like a professional.’

He gazed into my eyes as he spoke and a little tingle travelled from my stomach to my feet, forcing me to take hold of the kitchen surface. ‘Thank you.’ A faint voice, belonging to someone else, escaped from my lips.

‘Cup of coffee, Felix?’ swooned Mum, fluttering her lashes.

‘No, thank you, Mrs Bloom. I came to invite you all to the opening night of my exhibition. It is taking place at Heatherdale Art Gallery and there are a couple of local celebrities from soaps. There’ll be champagne and canapes. It’s usually a great party.’

I took the envelope from Felix and opened it. There were splashes of purple colour on the front of the invitation, and inside were details of the venue with a tiny picture of Felix. It said: Felix Laine, award-winning abstract artist and photographer, is presenting his Illusions collection. ‘How lovely! You’re an award-winning artist. You never said.’ Matt loathed art and spent an afternoon mocking the paintings in Leeds Art Gallery, especially anything abstract. Because Felix was arty, I now felt a greater connection to him.

‘No. I don’t usually tell people, because my paintings can be an acquired taste. It can take a while to sell them, so I also do graphic design.’ He handed me his business card. ‘Let my PA know if you’re attending as we have to be precise with numbers. I do hope you’ll be there.’

‘We’ll try our best,’ enthused Mum, taking one of the glossy tickets. ‘I hope we’re not disturbing you with the radio and sanding machine.’

‘No problem. When it gets noisy, I go down to the studio at the bottom of the garden.’

‘Oh. I haven’t seen the studio,’ I said.

‘No, it’s concealed by trees and has a large window facing onto the hills at the rear. My studio is parallel to your aunt’s potting shed because we shared the cost of the meadow behind us to prevent more building work. If you ever need me then just pop through the gate between our houses. There should be a key to the gate in your larder.’

‘Any idea where she kept the key to the potting shed?’

‘Erm. No. She used to change the location.’

I waited for him to explain.

‘She hid it from Nora and Camellia.’

‘OK – right. Erm. Why?’

‘They were always snooping in the potting shed. Oh, and I heard Nora and Camellia down there when I was working this morning. They were searching for the key but scarpered when I appeared.’

‘What? Why are they so interested in the potting shed?’

‘Because it’s more than …’

Dad entered the kitchen with his hand on his chest. I observed the pain reflected in his eyes. He struggled to smile.

‘Dad? Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’m just a bit dizzy. Get me a cup of tea, please. I need a spot of something to eat to keep me going.’ He sat at the kitchen table but ignored Felix’s tickets.

‘Right. I’ll be off then. Take care, Mr Bloom,’ said Felix. ‘I need to finish my last painting. Cheerio!’ The latch clicked behind him.

‘Hello, Blooms! Any coffee going? I could smell it brewing when I was doing my Tai Chi just now.’ Danny leaned against the kitchen door, grinning at everyone until he spotted Dad. ‘Mr Bloom. What’s wrong?’ he asked softly. He focused on Dad. ‘Smile for me, Mr Bloom.’

Dad frowned. ‘Look, lad, I just need a bit of a rest.’ Still holding his chest, he said, ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus in here. Someone leaves, another arrives, and no one uses keys.’ His words became breathless and then he tried to laugh.

‘No. I’m not joking here. I’m just checking for signs. Can you smile?’

Dad was able to lift his face into a smile.

‘Lift up your arms, please.’

Dad lifted his arms but staggered back into the chair. ‘It’s probably just indigestion. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten more sausage sandwiches.’

Mum tore off a sheet of kitchen roll and dabbed her eyes while Danny called for an ambulance.

‘Hello, yes. I need an ambulance at Tanglewood Cottage, Heatherbridge. I think the gentleman is having a heart attack.’ Once he put the phone down, he said, ‘I’ll go to the main road and direct the ambulance down here, so they don’t get lost. Mrs Bloom, if you pack an overnight bag and, Maisie, you might want to make sandwiches and take some supplies. I’ll follow in my van with Maisie.’

It was impossible to admit to myself that Dad might be having a heart attack. He could not be ill; he was always there to help me sort things out. Danny’s instructions did not register, and my mouth felt dry. My eyes focused on the bright sunshine pushing its way into the kitchen.

‘Maisie, come on; can you hear me? The ambulance will be here soon. You’ll need to make some sandwiches.’

I was not hungry and really was not interested in making sandwiches. ‘It’s not an outing. I’m not making bloody sandwiches. We just need to get there and get Dad sorted. Why the hell are you thinking about food at a time like this?’ I shouted.

‘Maisie, love,’ said Dad, with his hand on his chest. ‘He’s trying to help. You could be waiting a little while in the hospital.’ As he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper.

‘OK, Dad,’ I said, flinging bread, cheese, tomatoes and butter on the kitchen counter, telling myself everything would be fine.