Trudy nevertheless thanked him and hung up, feeling frustrated.

She got back in the car, glad that the heater was working, and rubbed her hands together briskly.

‘So, where do you want to go next?’ she asked determinedly. She was not going to allow setback after setback to get the better of her.

‘You have that party list of Millicent Vander’s?’ Clement asked after a moment’s thought.

Trudy nodded and brought it out. ‘Plus telephone numbers and addresses. At least she was thorough,’ Trudy said, unfolding the piece of paper from her satchel.

‘Any of them live close by?’ Clement asked, looking out at the dull, leaden white sky that was clearly threatening yet more snow. ‘I don’t want to have to criss-cross the city if I can help it. I’m not sure where the ploughs have been – and haven’t.’

Trudy saw the sense in that, and checked the list, running her eye down the neat handwriting. ‘Oh, here’s someone I haven’t got around to yet.’ She had, whenever she’d had the time, been systematically going through the list and talking to people she’d been able to make contact with on the telephone. ‘He lives just around the corner and down the next turning on the left.’

‘Perfect.’ Clement grinned.

*

It was when they were walking up the recently shovelled path to the door of No. 11 Cleeves Road, that it happened.

Clement felt his left leg drag, pitching him forward slightly. Before he could stop himself, he took a tumble, falling full-length onto the ground. Luckily, his heavy overcoat saved him from serious injury, and his thick gloves protected his hands when he thrust them out instinctively in front of him to take the worst of his fall.

‘Dr Ryder!’ Trudy, who was in front of him, rushed back. ‘Are you all right? It’s so icy everywhere!’

Clement, who knew the weather conditions had nothing to do with it, forced himself to his knees, and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I never was any good at ice skating,’ he said gruffly.

He gingerly got to his feet, feeling embarrassed to have to lean – even for a second or two – on the helping arm that Trudy had hooked underneath one armpit.

He took a tentative step forward, relieved to feel his legs hold him. ‘No harm done – except to my pride,’ he said cheerfully, brushing the ice and snow off the front of his coat, and from the knees of his trousers.

‘Are you sure?’ Trudy asked anxiously.

‘Of course. My bones aren’t that brittle yet, young lady,’ he said, giving her a flat stare, and hoping that she’d take the hint. Like most men, he didn’t like to make a fuss.