It was true that there was plenty of space for them to avoid each other. In fact, we still hadn’t made it out of the hallway and Abbott might not even have seen us. Just then, I heard a car door slam on the drive and looked round in time to see Anne Cleary and George Elkin getting out of the dusty green Volkswagen that had brought them here. I waited for them to come in. Elkin hadn’t made any effort to dress up for the party. He was wearing the same jacket with the elbow patches and a check shirt. He didn’t look happy to be here.

I smiled at Anne. ‘Did you manage to find your . . . ?’ I began.

But Anne wasn’t looking at me. She seemed stunned. I followed her eyes and realised that she was staring at Derek Abbott and the woman. She was shocked.

‘Anne?’ I asked. ‘Are you all right?’

She noticed me for the first time. ‘That man . . . !’ she faltered. ‘Who is he?’

‘His name is Derek Abbott,’ I said. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I’ve seen him . . . somewhere.’

‘Maybe you met him in prison,’ I suggested.

It was a stupid thing to say. But Anne and I had spent quite a bit of time talking about her prison charity, Books Behind Bars, and there was a part of me that wanted to stir things up. I was still annoyed with Hawthorne and my comment was actually a gentle stab in his direction. He didn’t respond.

But Anne had gone quite pale. ‘Oh my goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘I think you’re right. That’s exactly where I met him. He was in one of my reading groups . . . I’m sure of it!’ She turned to Elkin. ‘I wonder if I should even stay here. What do I say to him if he remembers me?’

‘Best not say anything,’ Elkin muttered. ‘Nobody really talks to him anyway. I’m surprised he’s here.’

‘I don’t know . . .’

She was saved by the arrival of Kathryn Harris, who had come hurrying out of the living room and now imposed herself between us with the drinks tray. ‘Red, white or rosé,’ she announced cheerfully. ‘Or there’s beer on the far table, as well as lemonade and sparkling water.’

Anne and I each picked a glass of wine. Hawthorne chose lemonade.

‘We’ll be bringing out the chicken satay in a moment,’ Kathryn continued. ‘But save some room for the steak and kidney puddings. They’re Marc’s speciality!’

By the time she had finished her recommendations, Abbott had turned his back on us and limped over to the sun lounge. I had to smile. There were now three of us who would have to keep our distance from him to avoid any further embarrassment.