Kathryn Harris had positioned herself near the door, keeping her distance from her boss. I have described her as being young, in her twenties, with glasses that covered too much of her face, but I should have added that she was very attractive, slim, with grey eyes and sand-coloured hair curling down to her shoulders. As he made his way towards the exit, Charles le Mesurier noticed her for the first time and I saw him smile in an unpleasant way. He could have moved around her but instead he brushed against her and at the same time his hand suddenly snaked round and took hold of her bottom. She started but before she could break free, he leaned towards her and muttered something in her ear. Kathryn blushed, an angry red.

I was only a few feet away and what I was witnessing could easily have been described as a fully fledged sexual assault. I was actually quite disgusted and I wondered if I should do something. But I was nervous. If I went charging in, the white knight to the rescue, there was every chance that I would only make the matter worse. It might even seem patronising to suggest that Kathryn needed my help, that she couldn’t look after herself. I stood there, momentarily frozen, but mercifully, before I could make a decision, it was over. Le Mesurier released her. She looked at him with eyes that were full of anger and humiliation. He smiled and moved away.

I didn’t see what happened next. A couple of people I’d met earlier came over and talked to me and the next time I looked, Kathryn had gone and le Mesurier was just disappearing through the door. I waited a few moments before following him out. I didn’t really want to talk to him again, not after what I had just seen.

Unfortunately, he was waiting for me in the street. ‘So you write kiddie books, do you?’ he asked, lazily.

Kiddie books. There it was again. The art of the insult.

‘Actually, I write adult fiction too,’ I told him.

‘Oh, yes. You’re here with the detective.’

‘Hawthorne. Yes.’

‘I’ve often been tempted to murder my wife. Maybe he can give me some advice.’ He smiled. ‘What time are the two of you on?’ he asked.

I told him that my session with Hawthorne would be happening the next day at four o’clock.

‘I thought I might come,’ he said. ‘I don’t read much crime fiction myself, although I’m quite fond of Dan Brown. He’s sold millions. Do you know him?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘But there’s a chap who works with me who’s very keen and I said I’d join him. He wants to hear all about Detective Inspector Hawthorne.’