‘Not I,’ the artist shot back at once. ‘I was too busy making inroads into the champagne and being outrageous. Which is the unspoken agreement, isn’t it?’ The artist opened her eyes wide in mock innocence. ‘Staid society matrons provide a bit of scandalous company at their parties, and the said scandalous company doesn’t disappoint. I flirted with some very married men just enough to upset their wives, and said one or two libellous things to the more stick-in-the-mud-types, then settled down with a bottle of Moët’s best efforts and commenced to get decently plastered. Besides, I was not on the mystery woman’s radar. Which stands to reason,’ Katherine Morton said, taking a swig of whisky. ‘Lions in the jungle tend to avoid one another. It’s a courtesy thing.’

Trudy turned a page on her notebook, but privately wondered if you got lions in jungles. Didn’t they tend to roam about on the plains? Her lips twisted into a smile as she scribbled assiduously. Whimsy, it seemed, was infectious.

‘So who was on her agenda?’ Clement interposed smoothly.

‘Oh, Millie’s fancy man, I rather think,’ Katherine said, sounding bored. ‘I didn’t realise, until that night, that dear old Millie had it in her! A younger swain, no less! I can tell you she went up several notches in my estimation when I finally figured it out.’

‘One of the guests rather thinks Terrence Parker and the gate-crasher were having a discreet spat. And that you might have overheard it,’ Clement said, watching Katherine yawn mightily. She opened her jaw so wide he fancied he could almost hear the delicate bone in her lower mandible crack.

‘Sorry? Oh, yes, you’re quite right. At one point in the night they were hissing at each other like a pair of kettles, behind me – I was on the sofa …’

She reached into her handbag suddenly, which was so full that items instantly began to tumble out as she rummaged around inside it. More pens, a notebook, a bottle of aspirin, a hairbrush, a set of what looked like crayons, a packet of tissues … It all tumbled onto the already full table, until with a cry of triumph, Katherine pounced on the required object, which turned out to be a tube of lipstick.

‘Ah,’ she said with satisfaction, twisting the bottom, revealing a deep red tube of colour.

‘What was the argument about, could you hear?’ Clement asked, watching, fascinated, as the woman, still holding the glass of whisky in one hand, and utterly without benefit of a mirror, very neatly and effectively outlined her mouth with the vibrant red.

‘Yes I did, as a matter of fact. Oh, you’ve no reason to look so pleased, I assure you. It’s disappointing – very,’ Katherine warned him. ‘In fact, it was downright sordid. They were arguing about another woman.’

Chapter 18