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passed out, he’d said. Panicked. And then there was Basil’s letter. He’d mentioned Bernard and referred to him as ‘my brother’. The connection was definitely there. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe it.
    Taking a deep breath, she picked up the envelope—no one called her a scaredy-cat—and tipped the contents out onto the table so that he could see that she wasn’t trying to hide anything.
    â€˜Here’s Basil’s letter,’ she said, offering it to Sean, who was leaning against the dresser, still poking about in the plug with the screwdriver. ‘You’d better read it,’ she said, thrusting it at him before turning her attention to the notebook.
    On the first page, where a printed note said ‘In case of loss, please return to:’ the word ‘ROSIE’ had been written in block capitals, along with a mobile phone number. Presumably belonging to the phone on the table.
    It was a page-a-day diary, she discovered, as she riffled through the pages, hoping for some clue. To the man. To his whereabouts.
    There were appointments with names and telephone numbers by them. The occasional comment. Quotes by the famous, as well as Basil’s own wry or funny comments on the joys of ice cream. There were only a couple of recent entries.
    â€˜He’s written “RSG” on yesterday’s date. Underlined. Do you know anyone with those initials?’
    He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.
    â€˜That’s it, apart from “Service, Sean” written in the space for last Friday. Are you a mechanic? There’s a collection ofvintage cars at Haughton Manor, isn’t there? Do you take care of them?’
    â€˜They come under my care,’ he said. ‘Basil asked if I’d change Rosie’s oil, run a few basic checks to make sure everything was in good shape since he had some bookings. His back has been playing him up,’ he added, almost defensively. Doing little jobs on the side that his boss didn’t know about? Not her concern.
    â€˜How much does he pay you?’ she asked. The last thing she needed was an elderly—vintage—vehicle that required high level, high cost maintenance, but she didn’t appear to have much choice in the matter. The mystery remained, but the connection between Basil and her family appeared to be proved.
    He shrugged and a smile teased at the corner of his mouth, creating a tiny ripple of excitement that swept through her, overriding her irritation, and it occurred to her that a man like Sean McElroy could be seriously good for her state of mind.
    â€˜Basil prefers to give payment in kind,’ he said.
    â€˜Ice cream?’ She looked at him. The narrow hips, ropey arms. Her state of mind and all points south. ‘How much ice cream can one man eat?’
    â€˜Fortunately, I don’t have to eat it all myself. He brought Rosie along to a family birthday party fully loaded with ice cream and toppings. The brownie points I earned for that were worth their weight in brake liners.’
    â€˜Family? You have children?’
    â€˜No. The party was for my niece. Half-niece.’ He shrugged. ‘I have a complicated family.’
    â€˜Don’t we all,’ she said wryly. ‘But that’s a lot of ice cream for one little girl’s birthday.’
    â€˜It was a big party. My family don’t do things by halves,’ he said.
    â€˜No?’ They had that in common, only in her case it tended to be dramas rather than celebrations. ‘How do you know him?’
    â€˜Basil? He’s a tenant on the Haughton Manor estate.’
    â€˜Keeper’s Cottage. It’s on the vehicle logbook,’ she said. ‘It’sso near. I went there once on a school trip when we were doing the Tudors. It’s beautiful.’
    â€˜So people keep telling me.’
    â€˜You live there too?’ she asked.
    â€˜Live there, work there, for