Constance di Donato’s address in London was the garden flat of a handsome, double-fronted Georgian townhouse overlooking the grassy heath in the centre of Blackheath village. Vibrant purple begonias tumbled from the tall pots on either side of the majestically arched front door, and a brass plaque listed the apartment numbers above their respective bells.

Grace pressed her index finger on to the Garden Flat bell for the second time and then waited. Still no answer. But if by some chance Mrs Donato was still alive, then she would be very elderly – in her nineties, if she had a baby born in 1940 – so it might take her a while to come to the door. Should she press the bell again? Grace wasn’t sure it would be polite to, so she pulled her phone from her pocket and, after shielding the screen from the dazzling afternoon sunshine, she looked in her notes app to double-check that she had the right address. Garden Flat, 1 Montpelier Row, Blackheath, London SE3.

Yes, it was definitely correct. But then, on glancing at the time at the top of the screen she felt anxious on realising she needed to be back home very soon to give Cora her tea. Larry had agreed she could leave work early to come here and look for Connie, and Jamie had kept his promise to come along too, even though Blackheath wasn’t very far from where she worked in Greenwich. He had been true to his word and had come to Cohen’s to meet her, having arrived half an hour early, so had sat and chatted to Betty in the office while he waited for Grace to finish up checking in a new customer and teaching them how to operate the electric trolley, which really did seem to have a mind of its own, veering off in all directions apart from the one it was actually supposed to go in.

Jamie was currently bobbing up and down with his hands pressed up to the sides of his head as he tried to get a look through one of the big sash windows on the ground floor.

‘Come on, it’s obviously a dead end,’ Grace said, slotting the phone back into her pocket, resigned to not finding Mrs Donato after all, which was a shame as she had hoped to meet the glamorous lady. But she knew that it was highly unlikely given that Larry’s payment reminder letters had been ignored for all this time. From what Grace already knew about Connie, from the impeccably organised storage unit and her compassionate diary entries and notes, she had formed an impression of a meticulous lady of considerable substance, and not the kind of person who would just stop paying their bills and then ignore reminders. No, Grace knew deep down that her initial hunch must have been right and that Connie had died. It was just fanciful thinking to get her hopes up of a different outcome.

‘Not so fast. We can’t give up now,’ Jamie said, over his shoulder. ‘Try ringing one of the other bells.’

‘I can’t do that. And I’m not sure you should have your face pressed up to that window … what if someone is in there? And we don’t even know if that is the garden flat you’re peering in to. They might think you’re staking out the place with a view to burgling it!’

‘Don’t be daft!’ he hissed in an exaggerated stage-whisper voice. ‘They’re hardly going to think that with me in this get-up now, are they?’ And he ran a hand over his bright pink T-shirt with a bold white flamingo print splashed all over it.

‘Hmm, I guess not.’ Grace had to agree, as with his mirrored petrol-blue sunglasses and flamboyant fluoro-lime trainers, he wasn’t exactly blending in with the genteel top-drawer set who lived in an exclusive place like this. ‘But there’s still nobody in, Jamie.’ And she went to walk off.

‘Hang on, I think I just saw someone moving around inside …’ And he tapped on the window. A little while later, the big front door was slowly opening, and a very elderly woman was standing before them, wearing a smart, pink tweed Chanel jacket and pearls, with coiffured snowy hair and pensive eyes.

Grace inhaled sharply and then held her breath as she scanned the woman’s papery, age-lined face, wondering if this frail old lady really could be Connie? Maybe her hunch was wrong after all and Connie was still alive. The woman standing in front of her looked to be at least in her nineties, so it was possible she could have a daughter who was in her seventies.

Jamie darted away from the window and towards the front door.

‘Hello, I hope I didn’t startle you. It’s just that my friend here is looking for someone … A friend. Yes, a long-lost friend,’ he quickly reassured as the woman clasped her hands together in worry, her eyes flitting left and right along the street and then gazing out over the grassy heath behind them, as if trying to fathom the situation with these two strangers.

Grace smiled and stepped forward so she was standing alongside Jamie.

‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ she said and held out her hand, resisting a sudden urge to dip into some kind of curtsey, such was her feeling of reverence for the elegant woman standing before her … or was it in hope of meeting Connie after all.

‘Who are you?’ the elderly woman asked tentatively.

‘Um, my name is Grace Quinn,’ she said, briefly holding the lady’s tiny soft hand in hers. ‘And this is my best friend, Jamie.’

‘Hello.’ Jamie did a little wave by way of introduction before folding his arms and stepping back to allow Grace to carry on.

‘We’ve come here to find a long-lost friend—’

‘You’ll have to speak up, my dear,’ and the old lady moved in a little closer, placing her hand on Grace’s arm. ‘My hearing isn’t what it used to be, you see. It comes to us all in the end, I’m afraid. Pleased to meet you … you can call me Lady Bee … everyone does. Now, what is it you were saying?’ And with her free hand she patted her immaculate hair while Grace wondered if this meant that she really was a bona-fide Lady … she certainly had an air of nobility about her.

‘Nice to meet you too.’ Grace smiled gently and rested her hand on top of Lady Bee’s before speaking each word more precisely. ‘I said, I have come here to today to look for a friend …’

‘A friend you say? What is your friend’s name?’

‘Con …’ Grace paused and then continued with, ‘Mrs Donato.’

‘Constance?

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Oh dear.’ Lady Bee suddenly looked agitated as she patted Grace’s arm before withdrawing her hand. ‘That can’t be right …’ Her voice trailed off as she shook her head.

‘Why is that?’ Grace enunciated carefully to make it easier for Lady Bee to lip-read.

‘Mrs Donato didn’t have any friends, my dear, so that’s why. She kept herself to herself when she lived here. I never saw anyone visit her, and my apartment is right across the hallway. I did say hello on occasion if I saw her in the hall when she first moved in and we made polite conversation … you know, she told me once that she had lived in this very house as a child before having to leave when she was only seventeen. It wasn’t converted into flats in those days, though … she said it was a grand Georgian house with servants’ quarters in the attic rooms and a magnificent kitchen with an enormous Aga in the basement, so I imagine her family must have been very wealthy indeed.’ Lady Bee widened her eyes and tilted her head.

‘Did she say why she had to leave?’ Grace asked, wondering if it was because Connie was pregnant – the diary entry had mentioned her parents visiting her in a rural village called Tindledale to break the news of Jimmy’s death.

‘No, she didn’t, and I did ask as I thought it an opportunity to find out a bit more about her, but she clammed up. She was very distant. Quiet and reserved. “A recluse” is what they call people like her. And then she moved on.’

‘Moved on?’ Jamie intervened. ‘Do you by any chance have a new address for her?’ The woman looked at him and then back at Grace, who was trying not to feel disappointed that she definitely wasn’t Connie.

‘Oh dear, there’s no easy way to tell you this … so I’ll just get on with it and then it’s out of the way.’ Lady Bee straightened her back and fixed her eyes on Grace. ‘I’m afraid your friend passed away some time ago. She had a fall in the street and an ambulance took her to hospital where she later died. I’m so very sorry for your loss,’ she stated, stoically. Grace gulped and felt grateful for the sunglasses she was wearing as she could feel her eyes stinging with the threat of tears, which was ridiculous really as she hadn’t even known Connie in real life. But she had felt a connection. She identified with Connie, knowing she had a controlling mother and that they shared the same birthday as well; she felt as if she knew Connie intimately, too, through reading her personal diaries and notes. So now Grace felt a loss on realising that she really would never get to talk to the woman whose life she was piecing together.

A short silence followed.

It was Jamie who spoke next.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he soothed, looking at the elderly woman before placing his arm around Grace’s shoulders. ‘Do you know when she, um … moved on?’

‘I’m afraid I do. You see, I was away when it happened.’ She glanced apprehensively at Grace. ‘When it’s winter time here I stay with my son at his villa in Spain every year … the sunshine, you see; it helps with my joints. But when I came home in the springtime, poor Constance had already gone. This would have been nearly two years ago now.’

‘I’m so sorry, it must have been a shock for you,’ Jamie said.

‘It was. Yes, it really was. A dreadful business.’

‘Do you remember meeting any of her family? Did anyone visit here perhaps?’ he asked carefully.

‘On no, dear. Like I said, there was no one, and I don’t even think there was a proper funeral. It was certainly all over by the time I came home. You see, I would have gone to her funeral if I had known about it. It’s not nice to think of anyone going without any loved ones to give them a bit of a send-off now, is it?’ Grace shook her head emphatically. ‘And then her apartment was cleared out and the contents collected by one of those house clearance companies – I saw their van come here; not that there was very much to take away. Such a shame … there wasn’t any furniture to speak of – just a rusty old metal bed frame with a worn-out mattress and a few bags of clothes. One of the men said all her kitchen cupboards were empty and there was only a carton of sour milk in the fridge.’ Lady Bee shook her head and Grace’s heart sank further as she processed all this information.

‘I wish I had known she wasn’t coping, but she never invited me into her home. If she had, I would have helped her. I could have fetched her groceries – my son sorts out the supermarket delivery for me and he wouldn’t have minded at all if I’d added in a few extras for Constance.’ She clasped her hands together in anguish. ‘Ooh, here comes Mr Conway, maybe he can shed some light on what happened to poor Constance.’

They all turned to see a dapper gentleman exiting a silver Mercedes that had just pulled up behind them; he was wearing a smart suit with a vibrant pink handkerchief popping out of a top pocket. ‘He lives in Connie’s flat now,’ Lady Bee informed them. ‘But don’t mention what I said about her,’ she quickly mouthed. ‘It might upset him to know she was living so frugally, in what is his home, now.’

Grace and Jamie quickly nodded in unison as they were introduced to Mr Conway and Lady Bee explained, bringing him up to speed.

‘I’m afraid I have little more to tell you,’ he nodded, ‘other than the occasional items of post arriving for your dear deceased friend … Of course, if there’s a return address then I always write the obligatory “Not known at this address”, etc. on the envelope before popping it back into a letter box.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Grace interjected, remembering the flamboyant handwriting on the payment reminder letters that Larry had received back in the office. ‘Do you mind me asking if there is still very much post for Mrs Donato? Any handwritten envelopes that could be a birthday card, or Christmas card, from a family member or friend perhaps? Anything you can tell us would be very much appreciated. You see, I work at Cohen’s Convenient Storage Company – it’s past the heath and down the hill in Greenwich – and we have some items belonging to her that really need to be passed on to a next of kin.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Mr Conway cupped his chin in his hands as if momentarily deep in thought. ‘Hmm, not that I recall. Just brown envelopes – the type that usually contain bills. I don’t think she had any next of kin as I bought the flat from solicitors acting on behalf of the Crown.’

‘The Crown?’ Grace asked.

‘Yes, as in the State. There’s a government legal department called Bona Vacantia and they deal with the estates of people who die without leaving a will or having any known living relatives.’

‘Oh dear.’ Lady Bee stepped in and looked at Grace. ‘Perhaps you could get in touch with the special department, my dear, and then you could let them know about the items you have in your storage facility.’

‘And a relative could have come forward; perhaps they were estranged from your friend and didn’t know about her passing until more recently,’ Mr Conway suggested. ‘I assume the proceeds from the sale of the flat will be sitting in a government account somewhere, waiting to be claimed.’ He nodded again and apologised for not being able to help further before saying goodbye.

So it seemed Connie died in poverty and all alone in what used to be her childhood home. Grace knew they could probably check about the funeral arrangements with Betty’s friend, Maggie, at the coroner’s office of course, just in case a family member had surfaced to organise everything. But even so, why had poor Connie been alone with only a bed and some bags of clothes when she had a lifetime of belongings in storage, some items of which were clearly of considerable value? She could have sold them and made her life a little more comfortable. It just didn’t make sense, especially when Grace remembered the glamorous woman in the picture taken by the harbour in Portofino during the 1950s. The woman with a treasure trove of jewellery and fine art and a collection of vintage gowns seemingly from another, more affluent time … a golden era of gaiety and prosperity for Connie. In stark contrast to the way she lived at the end of her life.

And in that moment, and with tears still smarting in her eyes, Grace made a decision: she was going to do whatever it took to find out what had become of Connie. How had her life spiralled into one of such obscurity where her next-door neighbour didn’t even know how she was living, so desperate and alone with her shabby bed and empty food cupboards? It broke Grace’s heart and she couldn’t imagine her own life coming to an end in that way, or indeed her mother’s life. What would become of Cora if she stopped caring for her? Would she end up like Connie? Lonely and hungry? It could so easily happen. No. Having forged a connection with Connie through her diaries and notes, Grace now felt even more compelled to find out the truth. It was the least she could do for a woman in time who fell in love, only to have her heart broken, and who lived a glamorous life in Italy … but then somehow ended up all alone back here in her childhood home in very different circumstances to the ones she had enjoyed all those years previously.