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‘Have you recovered from your ordeal?’ He looks embarrassed.

The colour rises in his cheeks. I’m reminded then of how young he is.

He’s barely reached adulthood and he’s survived the sinking of the Titanic .

If it were my day, he’d be in therapy. ‘You’ve been through a terrible trauma, Glover,’ I continue.

‘We all have. To have witnessed people drowning, and that ship going down, well, that’s enough to turn a person insane.

If you feel guilty for having survived, you must tell yourself that it was your destiny to survive, otherwise you would have perished.

It was meant to be.’ He’s staring at me with a startled look on his face.

I don’t know whether that’s because of what I’m saying, or because I’m speaking to him.

Perhaps Constance has never spoken to him beyond the odd salutation.

‘Will that be all?’ he asks.

I can’t make him out. I’d like to say more, to engage him in further conversation, but he’s unwilling to talk. ‘I will leave you to your duties, then.’ I smile, but he turns away and draws the other pair of curtains.

I feel my frustration mount. He should be grateful that I’m being so nice to him, but he’s full of resentment. I remind myself that Lester has told him he’s to be dismissed. Perhaps he’s just sad.

Instead of going to my room, I decide to go downstairs and play the piano.

I feel uneasy suddenly. There’s a dark energy beginning to build in the house.

Beware the stair. Beware the stair. I have no idea what that means, and who the message is meant for.

Is someone going to fall down the stairs? If so, who?

I’m longing for tomorrow to come so that I can meet with Cavill. But my anticipation is clouded by the knowledge that I can’t have him. I will slide back to my time soon and Cavill will be left in the past. When I open my eyes in the Aldershoff Hotel, Cavill will be long dead.

I sense that I’m close to finding out the root of Lester’s trouble. I feel my return is imminent. Yet, I have no idea what to look out for. I have to trust that I’ll be shown.

Henderson gives me an enquiring look when I encounter him in the hall.

I tell him I’m going to play the piano. He asks whether I would like something to drink.

A cup of tea, or some hot milk and honey.

A bowl of soup. I decline. I don’t have an appetite tonight.

My belly feels like it’s teeming with ants, and none of them know where they’re going, or why they’re there.

I only know how to play a couple of songs.

I was brought up by my grandmother after my father died and my mother was taken away.

She had an upright piano in her front room and I taught myself out of boredom.

The music made me feel better at times when I felt overcome by despair.

I sit on the stool now, lift the lid of the piano and hover my fingers over the keys.

Then I begin to play ‘Let It Be’ by the Beatles.

I don’t need to look because I’ve played the tune so many times.

I close my eyes and sing. Constance has a good voice, I discover.

Not that it’s a difficult song. As I get into it, I feel myself relax and I’m taken over by a wonderful feeling of bliss.

I enter into a zone that’s free of cares and worries, and I bask in it – until I open my eyes and see Didi Aldershoff standing in the doorway, staring at me in astonishment.

I snatch my fingers off the keys as if scalded. I didn’t sense her there. What on earth must she think?

She shakes her head as if she can’t believe what she’s just heard. ‘That was beautiful,’ she gushes, her face opening into a charming smile. ‘What was it? I’ve never heard anything like it before.’

I shrug. ‘Something I made up.’

‘Of course you did. What a talent you are. And the words? Did you make them up, too?’

I nod. ‘Do play it again. I want to hear it from the beginning.’

She goes and perches on an armchair. I’m left no alternative than to do as she asks.

I take a deep breath and commence. As I sing, the servants are drawn to the door.

I feel like the Pied Piper of Hamlin luring the rats away with his music.

Their faces are alight with wonder. I suppose the Beatles couldn’t be more different from Enrico Caruso!

When I play the final chord, they all clap.

‘Play something else,’ Didi demands, but I close the lid.

I don’t imagine she’ll be as impressed by Chris de Burgh’s ‘Patricia the Stripper’!

Those are the only two songs I know how to play.

The servants melt away, muttering to each other. A footman remains, I imagine, to escort Mrs Aldershoff back up the stairs when she’s ready.

But she has no intention of leaving now. ‘Come and sit with me,’ she says, waving her elegant hand at the armchair beside her, her pretty lips curling with pleasure. ‘You’re a curious woman, Constance.’

I take the seat, sweeping my skirt to one side and settling into the chair. ‘Am I to take that as a compliment?’ I ask with a smile. Didi is irresistible when she wants to be.

Her bright eyes are penetrating. She’s trying to work me out.

‘There’s something unusual about you that I can’t put my finger on.

Perhaps it’s your Englishness, but, I admit, I’ve never met an Englishwoman like you before and I’ve met many.

’ She lifts her chin, accepting defeat perhaps in her ability to decipher me.

‘Who taught you to use the spirit board?’ she asks.

‘My mama,’ I reply, reminding myself that I’m Constance. The music has put me back in touch with Pixie and I must shake her off and assume my role. ‘She died recently and left it to me.’

‘Can anyone use it?’

‘Anyone.’

‘Does one need to be trained?’

‘Not at all. You just need patience and good intentions. The law of attraction will draw like for like. If you go into it with the intention of creating mischief, that is what you will attract. Therefore, you must aim for the highest good and attract only benevolent spirits.’

‘But the spirit who warned us of the stair. Was that a benevolent spirit or a malevolent one, wanting to create fear?’

‘That’s a good question, Mrs Aldershoff. I’ve been trying to work it out. To be honest, I don’t know who that was. The message seemed to come out of nowhere.’

‘And it wasn’t my husband?’

‘No, it wasn’t. If anything, it was a female energy.’

‘You speak of energy, Constance. Tell me what you mean?’

‘We are all spirit energy inhabiting these physical bodies in order to experience an earthly life. When we die, we leave our bodies behind as one leaves an old coat one no longer needs. We return home to the spirit dimension, which is simply another frequency of vibration. The slower the vibration, the more solid it appears. A rock, for example, vibrates at a very slow rate. A rainbow vibrates quickly. Spirit vibrates even quicker than that. Everything in the universe is vibration, moving at different speeds, from light and heat to these chairs we’re sitting on.

They just have different vibrational patterns.

That’s physics.’ She’s listening to me intently, her intelligent eyes staring at me as if she’s committing everything I say to memory.

I sense she’s hungry to learn and impressed that I appear so knowledgeable.

‘Your husband no longer has a physical body. He’s energy. ’

‘But how will I recognise him when I die and meet him in the next life?’ she asks, anxious suddenly.

‘He will appear to you as he did in this life, only his body will not be physical. You won’t be physical, either. Think of him as a rainbow. You’ll both be beautiful rainbows.’

She likes that idea and smiles. ‘How do you know so much about physics?’

‘I’m not sure I know so much about physics, Mrs Aldershoff. I’ve been interested in metaphysics all my life.’ I hope that’s true of Constance. ‘I’ve talked to wise people and read books on the subject. And I was born with a psychic ability.’

Her eyes take me in with renewed curiosity.

‘How unusual you are, Constance. You’ve opened my eyes tonight and I thank you for that.

My husband’s message to me was to love. Jesus’s message to the world was to love.

And here we are, surrounded by immense wealth.

It seems so important from our perspective, but we can’t take it with us, can we?

What’s it for? William worked hard to make a fortune.

He wanted more than anything to be accepted as a great man.

In God’s eyes, wealth made him neither great nor important.

It was inconsequential. Now he understands.

He has perspective, because he can look back on his life and see how irrelevant money was.

God is love. Jesus is love. We, too, are love, we just don’t know it. Isn’t that true, Constance?’

‘That’s exactly what we are and that’s exactly why we’re here, to wake up to our true natures. To who we really are.’

‘And how do we do that? How do we wake up?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t have all the answers and I’m not enlightened. I’m searching just like you. But I do know how to shut out the noise so that I can connect with the deep part of me that is eternal.’

‘Do show me, Constance.’

‘When you go to bed tonight, close your eyes and listen to your breath. Be the awareness that is aware of your breathing. The rise and fall of your diaphragm. The feel of air on your nostrils. Cold on the inhale, warm on the exhale. Become awareness. Consciousness. You’ll no longer be Didi Aldershoff, widow, mother, grandmother, friend, woman, person.

You’ll be the awareness beyond all those things. That’s the real you.’

She looks genuinely pleased. ‘I will try, and report in the morning.’

‘It might not come at first, but don’t give up. In that state, you’ll find the answers you’re looking for because you already know them. There is nothing that you don’t know.’

She takes my hand and pats it. ‘I want to learn to use the spirit board. Will you teach me?’

‘Of course, I will.’

‘Perhaps we can help others who have lost loved ones on the Titanic . Might we do that together, Constance?’

‘That’s a lovely idea. It would bring comfort to many.’

‘I’m so happy you came to New York. I’m so happy we have met.

I could have stayed in Newport, but I came here and I’m glad that I did.

And I’m glad I didn’t go out tonight but talked to you and listened to your beautiful song.

I feel a shift inside me. Something magical has happened to me and you have made it happen. ’

She stands up. ‘It’s late. I must go to bed. We will talk in the morning. A carriage ride in the park, perhaps?’

I remember my meeting with Cavill. ‘I would like that,’ I reply, hoping she’s not a late riser like her daughter-in-law.

‘Good night, my dear Constance.’

I watch her leave the room. The footman who has stood patiently by the door accompanies her. I wonder whether she has more confidence now on the stair.

I hope that after I’ve slid back to my time, she won’t ask Constance to play ‘Let It Be’.