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‘You arrived not long after I…’ Harmony bit her lip and closed her eyes briefly. ‘After I died,’ she said at last.

‘I did,’ Polly said, surprised that Harmony knew even that much about her. ‘You passed in June 1946, and I passed in January 1948.’

‘New Year’s Day,’ she murmured.

Polly stared at her. ‘How did you know that?’

Harmony shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Musta stuck in my mind, you know? I hate that expression, by the way. “Passed”. Passed where, for chrissakes? Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.’ She sighed. ‘We died, Polly. End of.’

‘But it wasn’t the end of, was it?’ Polly pointed out.

‘You think? Well, it hasn’t done much for my career, I’ll tell you that much.’

Polly burst out laughing. ‘Mine neither, love, but I suppose I was never likely to win an Oscar for my apple crumble, was I?’

‘I loved apple crumble,’ Harmony said in a longing tone.

‘Me an’ all. And chocolate cake.’

‘And pumpkin pie!’

‘Never tasted that,’ Polly admitted. ‘Sounds bloody awful, though.’

Harmony laughed this time, her face transforming instantly. Polly was dumbstruck by how attractive she really was, but there was something else… Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

‘Guess we’ll never taste anything good again. Or anything at all,’ Harmony said.

‘But on the plus side, you’ll never get fat,’ Polly pointed out, making Harmony laugh again.

‘Or old. Sheesh, I’ve seen Mrs Smithson’s newspapers and magazines over the years. Some of my so-called friends in the business aged badly . More wrinkled than a walnut! Either that or they look like wax dummies. I nearly died all over again with fright at the state of them!’

Her humour emboldened Polly to reach over and lightly touch the film star’s arm. ‘Will you come to the 1940s weekend?’ she pleaded. ‘We’d love to see you, we really would. We’re a friendly bunch, honest, and everyone would welcome you with open arms.’

‘But maybe,’ Harmony said, her smile fading instantly, ‘I don’t deserve friends.’

‘Of course you deserve friends!’ Polly gasped. ‘Everyone does. Why the heck would you think otherwise?’

‘You’re a very sweet girl, Polly,’ Harmony told her. ‘Let me ask you something. Do you think everyone can be forgiven? No matter what they do?’

‘Of course! I mean, it’s not for us to forgive anyway, is it?

That’s what the vicar always told us on a Sunday when we went to church.

And let’s face it, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of.

’ It felt as if her stomach rolled suddenly, even though that was impossible.

‘Things other people wouldn’t approve of. Things many would say were wrong.’

‘You think forgiveness is for everyone?’ Harmony watched her intently. ‘Even Hitler?’

Polly wrinkled her nose. ‘Like I said, it’s not for me to forgive anyone. Not even sure he was human, so maybe he doesn’t count.’

‘And what about the guy who murdered you , Polly? Would you forgive him ?’

Harmony’s green eyes seemed to bore through her. Polly had that awful sensation of feeling sick again, even though she knew it was impossible.

‘I–I—’ She couldn’t make herself speak about it. If she started, she might well break down, and then who knew what she might say? Especially with Harmony Hill, one of her all-time idols, looking at her with such sympathy and even understanding. Like – like she knew .

Polly mentally shook her head. Of course she didn’t know.

No one knew. Correction. No one alive knew.

Except, possibly Betty. She had a funny feeling that Betty had been told the truth, judging by her expression when she learned who Max Meyer was.

But apart from Betty, there was no one. But there was the teeniest, tiniest chance that a ghost or two had witnessed what had happened.

Well, she knew for a fact that one of them had, but maybe there’d been another one hanging around?

Someone who didn’t like to mingle with the others in the village.

Someone who might have been wandering through the woods alone that night…

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Harmony said, sounding bleak suddenly. ‘And that’s what I mean. Some things can’t be forgiven, and some of us don’t deserve friends, or a happy ever afterlife.’

‘But you – you’re not a murderer?’ Polly asked, bewildered.

‘No, I’m not. But if I was…’ Harmony smoothed her trousers and got to her feet. ‘It was swell of you to call on me, Polly, but I think I’m ready for bed now. Can you show yourself out?’

Polly stood, feeling thoroughly confused. ‘Will you think about it?’ she begged. As a sudden thought occurred to her, she added, ‘You can bring Quintus Severus, too, if you like? Maybe he’d come into the village if you were with him?’

Harmony stared at her. ‘The Roman? Now why the heck would you think that?’

Feeling suddenly foolish, Polly said, ‘Sorry. We just assumed… I mean, you must go somewhere during the day, and no one sees you around the village, so we thought maybe you went to keep him company. He must talk to someone, surely? I hope he does, anyway. We wondered if maybe you were visiting him at wherever it is he lives. Woodstone Manor perhaps?’

Once again, the colour faded from Harmony. ‘You make a lot of assumptions, Polly. You think I’d go anywhere near that creepy place? You gotta be kidding me! It’s like a set from a horror movie. As for the Roman, he keeps himself to himself. Some of us prefer it that way.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Polly said, thoroughly embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘You didn’t. Now I’m bushed and ready for my beauty sleep, so like I said…’

‘Of course. Goodnight, Harmony.’

‘G’night, Polly.’

Walter was waiting patiently for her by the garden gate as she left Appleseed Cottage feeling awkward and not a little confused.

‘You were quite some time, Mistress Herron,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘How did it go with our esteemed neighbour?’

Polly turned to him, her mind whirling. ‘To be absolutely honest with you, Walter, I haven’t a bloody clue.’