‘Oh? What makes you think that?’ It was Clement, finished with the excellent mince pies, who prodded their witness into further disclosures.

‘Well,’ the other man eagerly turned his attention to the coroner, his eyes twinkling in excitement. ‘I do believe there was a bit of a contretemps at the party involving a rather nice-looking young woman – who, incidentally, didn’t seem to know anyone else at the party apart from the young Lochinvar – and our hostess.’

Trudy again had to take a moment to decipher this. ‘Sorry, are you saying he was flirting with someone else? At Mrs Vander’s own party?’ She tried not to sound shocked, but couldn’t help but feeling indignant on the hostess’s behalf.

‘Oh no, quite the reverse,’ David said hastily, turning avidly in his chair towards her now, the intensely white daylight streaming through the windows and gleaming off his silk-lined smoking jacket collar as he did so. ‘Far from Terry and the mystery woman being all cosy, I do believe a nasty little spat was taking place between them, behind all the fake smiles and lowered voices.’

‘You’re saying Mr Parker was seen arguing at the party with another guest?’ Again it was Clement who asked the deliberately straightforward question. He, like Trudy, was finding all the gushing rather trying.

‘Well, it certainly looked like it to me,’ David, pressed to be exact, again hedged a little. ‘I was too far away to really be able to hear anything, mind,’ he said, with such obvious regret and chagrin that Trudy had to stop herself from smiling. ‘But I thought their body language was positively screaming hostility. On both their parts – his and hers,’ he added unnecessarily, nodding his head emphatically, his eyes wide and solemn.

‘So who was she? The woman, I mean?’ Trudy asked.

‘My dear, I told you, I don’t know!’ David spread his pink, well-manicured hands about in a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t think any of us did! I certainly didn’t know her from Adam – or I suppose I should say Eve! And that in itself was odd, since dear Millie does tend to play it rather safe when it comes to her little soirees, and invites the same old people over and over again. Mind you, this time she played a bit of a blinder, snagging our local celebrity,’ he added, eyes beaming in approbation.

‘Who? Sorry, who are you talking about?’ Trudy asked patiently.

‘Oh my dear, our divine Katherine Morton, our “Lady of the Easel” no less. Exhibits at the Royal Academy with monotonous regularity and all that,’ David gushed with just a hint of sarcasm.

Trudy nodded, suddenly remembering that someone else had mentioned her before. But she was far more interested in less high-flying partygoers right now.

‘To get back to the woman you saw Mr Parker having words with,’ she said firmly. ‘Presumably Mrs Vander must have known who she was? If she’d invited her?’