‘I’m going to visit Great-Aunt Sophia in New York, I’ve made up my mind.’
It is a fine spring evening, they are outside in the garden.
‘Have you indeed? And how will you pay for that?’
‘Irene left me a legacy, you may remember.’
‘Aha. Why do you so much want to see Aunt Sophia, I wonder?’
‘It’s natural, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m curious about her. About the way she disappeared.’
‘I can see that.’ Dorothea pulls out a tiny weed, though the garden is immaculate. ‘It was odd, when I was a child she came once to stay in Berlin, and Uncle Mark was there, and everyone had a lovely time, she was such fun, and then after she’d left I sensed something had happened to her but I didn’t know what. I’d ask questions, and they were never answered. Then they said, she’s gone to America.’
‘It’s odd she never wanted to come back to England.’
‘She almost came back for Granny’s funeral, but in the end she said she’d mark the occasion at home.’
‘Perhaps she couldn’t afford to.’
‘Oh, her husband had plenty of money. . . Don’t you think the violets are heavenly? Look, sheltering under those bushes. She might not be pleased to see you, of course.’
‘She’s asked me to stay.’
‘Oh.’ Dorothea scrutinises her borders. ‘How did you get her address?’
‘You showed me some of her letters – 118 Riverside Drive, it’s easy to remember. I’m going at the end of June. I’m excited.’
Silently they go inside. Dorothea locks the door to the garden. They go into the sitting room. It is rather cold. They remark that sometimes in spring the light makes one feel the temperature has risen, when actually it hasn’t.