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Pixie wished she were as charming as Ulysses, then she’d have more chance of getting the woman to break into a smile.

The waitress came to the table and Mrs Aldershoff ordered a pot of tea.

Pixie, who had already had a cup of coffee, ordered a glass of orange juice.

‘Tell me about Lester,’ she asked gently once the waitress had gone.

‘I see Mr Stirling has filled you in,’ said Mrs Aldershoff, arching her thin eyebrows.

‘I linked into Lester myself last night,’ Pixie informed her. ‘Dapper man in Edwardian dress.’

Mrs Aldershoff’s lips curled a little in surprise and Pixie got the feeling that if she won her trust, the woman might crack a bit to reveal a soft centre, like an egg.

‘Dapper. That’s the word my grandmother used for him,’ she said quietly.

‘Dapper. Yes, he was dapper.’ She paused a moment, for that word brought her grandmother back to her.

She could almost smell her floral perfume.

‘I never met Lester. But I do have a photograph of him.’ She unzipped her handbag and took out a white envelope.

Pixie noticed that her burgundy nail polish was chipped, which seemed odd because everything else about her was so immaculate.

‘This is the only photograph I have of him,’ she said, handing Pixie the envelope.

‘On the day of his engagement to my sister, Esme, who was twenty-two years older than me. Lester was Viscount Ravenglass. He owned a large estate in Hampshire and a townhouse in Mayfair. His father died when he was twenty-three years old, and he inherited the title and the properties that went with it. His marriage to my sister lasted barely four years. They had no children. She divorced him and came back to New York, not before he spent all her money.’ She laughed wryly.

‘He became an alcoholic. That’s all I know.

I have no idea why he’s here. He came to New York to court Esme, but after their marriage he never returned.

My mother sold this house when I was fifteen, after my father died.

’ She smiled sadly and swept her watery eyes about the room.

‘I’m sure Mr Stirling told you, but this was once my home.

’ She frowned and her shoulders dropped.

‘Feels like another life now. So long ago.’

Pixie could relate to that. She hadn’t been back to her home since leaving it as a child and moving in with her grandmother.

She wondered whether, were she to revisit that house, it would feel like home.

She didn’t think it would. She’d been too young, and too unhappy.

Like Alma Aldershoff, that time belonged to another life.

She took the photograph out of the envelope and studied it closely.

Lester had a distant expression, as if he was distracted, and he looked very serious.

But then people never smiled in those old photographs.

Early photography was a lengthy process that required the sitter to remain still for several minutes.

It was no surprise that no one wanted to hold a smile for that long.

‘I tried to make contact with him in the drawing room yesterday,’ she told Alma.

‘But he was having none of it. I’m not sure whether that’s because he’s unable to communicate or because he doesn’t want to.

I gather he made a right mess of that room. ’

The light returned to Mrs Aldershoff’s eyes. ‘He did. It was terrifying. It was as if I’d unleashed a poltergeist.’

‘You certainly unleashed a very unhappy spirit.’

‘I’ve brought the board,’ said Mrs Aldershoff suddenly, as if Pixie’s readiness to believe her story gave her confidence to share it.

Pixie lifted the blue box off the banquette and placed it on the table.

‘I was trying to contact my father but got Lester instead.’ Mrs Aldershoff sniffed with frustration.

‘I’m not sure how that happened. The board belonged to my grandmother, you see.

She knew how to use it. I should have paid more attention, but I wasn’t really into that sort of thing. ’

‘I see,’ said Pixie thoughtfully. ‘But you’re into it now?’

Mrs Aldershoff looked bashful. She paused while a waitress brought the tea and orange juice, and then resumed speaking, lowering her voice.

‘I need to contact my father,’ she said, lifting the delicate china teacup to her lips.

‘I need to ask him something. There’s something he knows that no one else knows. It’s important to me.’

‘What do you need to ask him? Perhaps I can help you there.’

Mrs Aldershoff sighed. ‘Maybe you can. I don’t know what you people can and can’t do.

You see, my grandfather bought a very precious diamond in the late eighteen-nineties and hid it somewhere in this house to keep it safe.

My father, his son, was the only member of the family who knew where it was hidden, but he died without sharing that information with anyone.

He wanted a son, but he got me.’ She sniffed again and pulled a face.

‘I was a great disappointment to him.’ Pixie noticed hurt inflicted long ago darken Mrs Aldershoff’s face and felt her heart swell with compassion.

She, too, had grown up without her father’s love, but for a very different reason.

She pushed the thought away and concentrated on the elderly woman.

‘Anyway, I’m certain it’s here somewhere.

I need to know where it is. I thought, if I could contact my father, he might be able to tell me.

It was a last resort. Foolish, really.’ She pulled a small key on a gold chain out from beneath her blouse.

‘This fits into a lock somewhere. But a key is useless without a keyhole.’

‘I’ve heard about the Potemkin Diamond,’ said Pixie.

Mrs Aldershoff laughed bitterly. ‘Everyone knows about the diamond. It’s one of those urban myths. Everyone has a theory. Some say my grandfather buried it in the park and hid a map in the house. Others that he buried it at our cottage in Newport. But I know it’s here. I just know it.’

Pixie did not want to disappoint her, but she felt compelled to tell her the truth. ‘I used my dowsing crystal yesterday with Mr Stirling,’ she said. ‘As far as I can tell, the diamond is not in the house.’

Mrs Aldershoff’s eyes flashed suddenly. ‘It has to be here,’ she retorted. ‘My grandfather wouldn’t have hidden it anywhere else but here. It has to be here, don’t you see?’

‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ Pixie conceded quickly, but she knew she wasn’t.

With a trembling hand, Mrs Aldershoff lifted her teacup to her thin lips and took a sip. Pixie observed the gold jewellery and coiffed hair, and sensed beneath the refined veneer a deep weariness. Alma Aldershoff was not long for this world.

The old lady put down her teacup and her thin shoulders slumped beneath the padded jacket, which suddenly looked too big for her small frame. ‘My great-grandson died of a brain tumour. He was only five. A dear little thing. He was very special to me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Pixie with feeling.

‘So am I. That little boy had something. I don’t know what it was.

I cherished him more than I’ve ever cherished anyone.

Then he died.’ She shook her head and sighed laboriously, as if it hurt her chest to inhale.

‘I’ve been thinking about death a great deal recently.

We all know that’s where we’re headed, and yet somehow we believe it won’t ever happen.

Well, I’m in my nineties now, so I can’t pretend it’s something that only happens to other people, because I’m staring it in the face.

’ She fixed Pixie with eyes that revealed both her sorrow and her fear.

How different she was now to the grandiose woman who had shaken her hand not even an hour ago.

‘Tell me, Pixie, what is this life for?’

The shell had indeed cracked, and Pixie saw her soft and tender centre, and her heart went out to her. ‘That’s the biggest question there is,’ she replied gently.

‘But you people have all the answers, don’t you?’

‘I think I have some answers, but I certainly don’t have all of them.’

‘Well, what do you think it’s all for? Why are we here? Why am I here?’

‘To live the best life you can, and to learn,’ Pixie said simply, picking up a small silver spoon from the table and toying with it.

‘That’s what it’s all about. You’re here because you chose to be here.

You chose all the obstacles and challenges because you needed to grow.

Before you came down here, you worked out a plan.

Whether you’ve stuck to that plan is anyone’s guess.

But you had a plan. A list of things you needed to do, people you needed to have relationships with, things you needed to experience. Well, that’s what I believe.’

‘Will I be judged when I get up there? I mean, will they rap me on the knuckles and tell me I’ve done a bad job? You see, I haven’t got much time left to put things right.’ Mrs Aldershoff’s eyes watered and she averted her gaze, dropping it to her teacup.

Pixie felt the impulse to reassure her and reached out to touch her hand. It was still cold. ‘No one judges you, Mrs Aldershoff, but you .’

‘So, I’ve just let myself down then?’

‘I don’t know. Have you?’