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It had been one heck of a day. The teashop had been packed from early morning to close of business at five o’clock.

Even with various street vendors, the fish and chip shop, the Victory Tea Rooms, and The Quicken Tree serving food all day, it didn’t seem to have lessened demand for tea and cake at Mrs Herron’s Teashop.

To my surprise, the spam sandwiches had proved popular, as had the mock mock banana sandwiches.

One bright spark had taken the challenge to try an actual mock banana sandwich, which had been a bit annoying, but since I’d said on the menu that it was an option, I could hardly complain.

Paige evidently had more foresight than I had, because she’d peeled, chopped, and boiled some parsnips early that morning just in case, which saved a lot of time.

Needless to say, the mashed parsnip, sugar, and banana essence didn’t exactly thrill the customer, or have him queueing up for seconds!

Most popular of all, though, by some margin, were the cakes that Max had provided. They’d been delivered by a courier which seemed typical of him. He might not have wanted to see me – well, there was clearly no ‘might’ about it – but he was a man of his word.

The cakes were delicious. Obviously, I’d had to taste everything before I could serve it to my customers. Ahem. He was right about the bienenstich . Those bee sting cakes were heaven on earth. And his Black Forest gateau was a sight to behold. It seemed almost criminal to cut into it.

His baking was a triumph. But of Max himself, there was no sign.

I was tired out by the time I headed home.

I’d hardly had any chance at all to wander round the village and see what was going on for myself.

I hadn’t even made it to the green to watch the church choir singing and was determined I’d find the time tomorrow.

At least we’d had music drifting in through the open door and windows from the speaker system, though it was a bit unnerving when the likes of Vera Lynn and the Andrews Sisters were interrupted by the sound of air raid sirens, or one of Winston Churchill’s speeches.

I hadn’t seen Aunt Polly all day and wondered how she was coping with all this.

Dad hadn’t been into the teashop either, although one of the locals who popped in for a pot of tea and a cheese scone informed me that she’d seen him out and about in the village, and he’d seemed to be enjoying himself, so that was something.

Christie and Scott turned up with Maddie and Autumn.

Christie had pulled out all the stops, dressing in a very similar fashion to Aunt Polly, even though she’d never seen her in person.

We did have some old photos of her, and I guessed she’d used those as inspiration.

They were all very excited about the event, and Christie said she’d had a hard time dragging Scott away from the long line of vintage cars that were lined up in front of the church and were apparently attracting a great deal of admiration.

Pippa was in the village somewhere, too, interviewing visitors and locals alike and soaking up the atmosphere to report back to The Cotswolds Courier .

She was coming back to Starling Cottage for dinner and staying the night, since she’d be reporting on day two of the weekend and it made no sense for her to go home in the meantime.

As I walked up the path to the cottage, I reflected that I hadn’t seen Rissa around either.

I wondered if Max had told her about us.

Probably not. There was no ‘us’ any more clearly, so what would be the point?

It was true that I’d half-expected he wouldn’t attend the event, given what had happened the last time we’d met, but that didn’t stop the disappointment and sadness seeping through me as I realised I might never see him again.

Now that I’d told him I couldn’t help him in his mission to clear Gerhard’s name, he had no further use for me. Besides, he thought I was either a lunatic or an exceptionally cruel person. Either way, why would he want anything to do with me now?

My spirits lifted a little when I found Pippa in the kitchen when I got home. They lifted even higher when I saw she was unwrapping fish and chips, and that the kettle was already boiling for tea.

‘I thought I’d treat us all,’ she announced, smiling as she saw me standing by the door, looking happier than I’d been all day, no doubt. ‘I couldn’t be bothered to cook, and I don’t see why you should after the busy day you’ve had.’

‘Oh, thanks so much, lovely,’ I told her, grateful that I had nothing to do but dive into the delicious smelling fish and chips without so much as having to reach for a pan.

‘Go and sit down, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring it all through as soon as I’ve dished it out.’

I found Dad sitting on the sofa, a tray on his lap in readiness, and a wide smile on his face. He looked more relaxed than he had all week.

‘She’s a good girl, our Pippa,’ he told me, as if the awkwardness between us had never happened. ‘What a treat! I’m looking forward to this, aren’t you?’

‘Did you have a nice day?’ I asked him stiffly, trying not to feel a twinge of resentment at his high praise for my daughter when all she’d done was bring in fish and chips. I mean, I was grateful to her, too, but I cooked for him every single night, and he seemed to take that for granted!

It had never bothered me before. I loved looking after Dad, normally.

Maybe, I thought sadly, I was just struggling to get over the way my feelings had been steamrollered by him and Aunt Polly, as if they didn’t matter at all.

Trying to do what was best for the two of them had probably cost me my relationship with Max, and even though it had been my choice in the end, I couldn’t help feeling a little anger that I’d ever had to make it.

‘I did,’ Dad replied. ‘They’ve done a great job, haven’t they? I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’ He cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. ‘I was going to pop into the teashop earlier, but it looked really busy, so I didn’t want to get in the way.’

It might have been the truth. Then again, he might be just saying that because he felt bad about not coming in. Either way, I didn’t have a reply for him, so I sat down and stared at whatever it was on the television without absorbing a word of what was being said in the programme.

Pippa came in carrying Dad’s fish and chips and a mug of tea, which she carefully put on his lap tray.

‘Do you need a hand, love?’ I asked her, but she shook her head.

‘Stay there. I’ll be back in a minute.’

She was, too, carrying a lap tray for me with my fish and chips, bread and butter, and a mug of tea. A third trip with her own meal meant she could finally sit down, and we could begin eating.

She’d even put the salt and vinegar on mine and hers and added the obligatory ketchup to Dad’s. It was bliss, and I felt my mood lifting a little as we ate in companionable silence.

‘Ooh, they smell good!’

We all looked up to see Aunt Polly standing there. She sniffed the air and said, ‘You can’t beat a chippy tea!’

‘Oh, Aunt Polly,’ Pippa said sorrowfully, ‘I’m so sorry. Do you want us to put these away until later? We can warm them up and?—’

‘You bloody well won’t!’ she said, sitting on the sofa next to Dad. ‘To be honest with you, I’m not even hungry. If I could eat, I’d probably say no. I’ve got – well,’ she shrugged, ‘other fish to fry, as you might say.’

‘You okay, Pol?’ Dad asked her, his eyes crinkling in concern.

She did look a bit on edge, despite her cheerful attempts at conversation.

I wondered if she’d come to lecture me again and pointedly shovelled some chips into my mouth, determined not to let her spoil this evening.

I’d had a rough day, and I just wanted to eat my dinner, have a nice hot shower, and an early night.

‘As it happens, Jimmy, no I’m not. Not really,’ Aunt Polly confessed. Her voice sounded weird, nervous, and I glanced up at her despite my annoyance.

Dad gave me an accusing look. ‘You haven’t done anything…’ He broke off, remembering Pippa was sitting there.

Aunt Polly squeezed his knee. ‘Now, Jimmy, don’t be having a go at our Shona. She’s done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing. If anything, we should be apologising to her.’

Well, that was unexpected! I frowned as Dad said, ‘Apologising to her?’

‘Yes. And Shona, love, I am sorry. I really am. I should never have given you that ultimatum. It was cruel and unnecessary, and I’m sorry it’s cost you so much.’

I gulped. ‘Who told you?’

Which one of the ghosts had been spying on us this time? Because clearly, someone had informed Aunt Polly that Max and I had… Well, could I say broken up when we’d never really got together in the first place?

‘Harmony Hill,’ she admitted. ‘But it was Isaac who told her.’

‘Bloody Isaac,’ I said crossly, before looking at her in surprise as her words sank in.

‘Harmony Hill? She’s been speaking to you?

’ We all knew that the Hollywood actress was reclusive and didn’t mix with the other ghosts, so this was a real breakthrough.

I almost felt honoured that my boring little life had given her so much interest that she’d deigned to speak to my aunt about it.

‘Me and Harmony, we’re like that,’ she said, entwining her fingers and laughing.

‘No, there’s still a way to go before she integrates with us all, but she’s doing better than she was.

Maybe one day… Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.

Well, I suppose it is in a way. Oh, just finish your fish and chips and we’ll talk about it then. ’

‘Oh no,’ Dad said firmly. ‘You tell us what this is about now. We can eat and listen, you know.’

Aunt Polly seemed to be pleating the hem of her dress, and I could feel how nervous she was from where I was sitting.

Any last bit of annoyance I felt faded away to be replaced with concern for her.

Something was obviously bothering her a lot and I didn’t want to make things any tougher for her.

Besides, she’d apologised, and I wasn’t one to hold grudges.

‘What is it, Aunt Polly?’ I asked gently. ‘Whatever it is, we’re here to listen.’

‘Aw, Shona. And after everything I said to you!’

‘What’s this about?’ Pippa asked, clearly baffled. ‘What have I missed?’

We all looked at each other.

‘I – I was helping Rissa’s dad,’ I admitted eventually. ‘He’s the grandson of a German PoW, and when his grandfather was dying, he said some things. Things that made Max believe he’d been badly treated at Rowan Farm while he was working there after the war.’

Pippa frowned. ‘Okay. And?’

‘And we went to talk to Betty at the farm about it all, and it ended up turning into something else entirely,’ I admitted, giving my aunt an apologetic look.

‘Like what?’

I could see Pippa’s interest was piqued, and mindful of the fact that she worked for a newspaper, I said quickly, ‘It’s private, love. Not something for the public to know about.’

She gave me an indignant look. ‘Well, obviously. I’m asking as your daughter, not as a reporter.’

I glanced at Dad and Aunt Polly, not sure how much they’d want me to tell her.

‘It turned into an investigation,’ Aunt Polly told her quietly, ‘of my murder.’

Pippa gasped, and to be honest, so did Dad and I. We’d never heard her say that word out loud before and hearing it from her own lips was quite chilling. Poor Aunt Polly. Whatever else had gone on, I had to remember that she was the victim in all this. Her feelings counted way more than mine.

‘I – right,’ Pippa said, obviously stunned. ‘Okay.’

‘The thing is,’ Aunt Polly rushed on, ‘although I understand that you were trying to help Max, you’ve both got it all wrong. You shouldn’t blame Sir Edward. He did everything he could to help.’

‘Sir Edward?’ Pippa looked from me to Dad. ‘You thought Sir Edward Davenport killed her?’

‘You may as well tell her,’ Aunt Polly said. ‘She’s just going to keep interrupting if you don’t.’

Carefully, I told Pippa about the conversation we’d had with Betty, and about our theories regarding Sir Edward, making sure not to mention anything that might give away the fact that Max and I had grown much closer as a result of our detective work.

‘Well,’ she said when I’d finished, ‘that’s some theory! And I can see why it would work, too. But you’re certain that it wasn’t Sir Edward, Aunt Polly? You’ve always said you didn’t see who killed you, so how can you be sure?’

Aunt Polly looked thoroughly miserable. ‘Because,’ she said softly, ‘I was lying. I know exactly who killed me. Truth is, I’ve always known.’