I don't know how to respond to such honesty, and the silence is rather uncomfortable. After a few moments, Guy recalls himself.

'Rather maudlin,' he says. 'Too much time to think. Bad thing.' He pats his knees and stands up, rather stiffly, for the stool is a long way down. 'Time to explain why I asked you here.'

He goes over to the corner of the room. 'Now, Natasha, I have something to give you, and that's why I wanted to meet up. To - explain.' He opens a cupboard door and turns back towards me.

He is holding a small, flat thing in his hand, and I stare down at it, not really thinking.

'Here,' he says, holding his hand out to me. 'Cecily's diary.' There's a thud and a squeal from Thomasina the cat. I have dropped my cup of tea, boiling water is everywhere.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It takes a few minutes to clean up, and I am very sorry. There is a painting that is probably ruined, as hot tea and water-colours don't mix, and I keep apologising as I help Guy wipe down various cases and books and random antiques, but he is completely relaxed about it. As I am on the floor, mopping up the tea with a cloth, I say, 'Where the hell did you get this?'

'Well—' Guy is immersed in a stain on the wall, and has his back to me. 'It's - it's complicated.'

I stare at the innocuous red exercise book, the white pages yellow with age. On the front is written, in the scrawling handwriting I know so well:Continuing the Secret Diary of Cecily Kapoor. 'Did you take it?'

'No, I did not,' he says firmly. 'Your mother sent it to me. She took it.'

'What?'

I am still holding a soggy ball of kitchen paper; my head snaps up. 'She posted it to me a few days ago. Said I should read it.'

'But—' My anger is rising. 'Why you? She can't stand you.' I catch the tip of my tongue between my lips. 'Sorry. She - she's just not your biggest fan, maybe.'

'Yes,' Guy says. 'Right. I'd gathered that. I don't know why, to be honest. But I don't know why she sent me the diary either, I'm afraid. Well - I do know why. You ought to read it and find out.'

I'm blushing, with embarrassment and anger. 'Still. Where the hell did she get it in the first

place?'

'It was in your grandmother's studio. She'd found it after Cecily died and kept it in there, all these years.' He stops. 'I did wonder, a few months after Cecily died - what happened to the diary? But I assumed they'd just put it away with all her things. I didn't think about it, really.' His head sags. 'I was too - I was thinking about other things.'

'So Mum just took it.' My head is spinning. 'After the funeral? So she's had it ever since? Why did she take it? Why hasn't she said anything?'

'I haven't spoken to her. I think she just saw it and snapped,' Guy says carefully. 'She was in the studio with Arvind, and she spotted it. The pages you have must have become separated, somehow, just fallen out.'

'Have you got the note?'

He pauses. 'I didn't keep it. I'm sorry. I don't think she planned it out. I'm rather concerned about her, you know, Natasha. It's a lot to cope with, what she's been through. And she's completely disappeared now. I rang her after I'd - I'd read it, to talk to her. I've rung her several times, but she never answers.'

'Typical,' I say. My head is spinning. 'She - I accused her of all these things, last week, and she just stood there. She didn't say anything. She didn't mention she had the diary, didn't say anything. And then she just sends it off to you - of all people, when she's told me you're the worst of the lot of them. She's—' I don't know what to say. 'She is mad.'

'You haven't read what's in here,' Guy says. The lines on his face deepen, and a spasm of pain flashes in his eyes. 'If she's mad - I can see why.'