It was hard to gauge her relationship with Charles le Mesurier. There was a careless quality to the way they spoke to each other, even in front of me. They would probably have no qualms about having a full-blooded row in public. And yet there was definitely some sort of affection there. It was as if they had known each other so long that they no longer cared about pretences. You had to accept them for who they were and if you didn’t like it, that was your problem.

Charles le Mesurier tried one last time. ‘We’re having a party, baby. You can’t go to bed.’

‘You’re having the party, Charles. Nobody knows who I am and nobody gives a damn. You can manage without me. Just try not to wake me when you come upstairs.’

‘All right. All right.’ He leaned towards me, cupping his hand over his mouth as if he didn’t want her to hear. ‘We’ve been together fifteen years and I don’t know what I’d do without her. Look at her! The face that launched a thousand chips.’ He smiled at his own witticism and weaved away.

Helen and I were left together and suddenly she relaxed a little. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Charles is a darling really. But he can be so boring when he’s had a few drinks. There are times when I literally want to kill him.’

‘What did he mean?’ I asked. ‘A thousand chips?’

She laughed. ‘That’s what he always says. It goes back to the time when I used to work for him at Spin-the-wheel.’ I still didn’t get it so she added: ‘Roulette chips.’

‘Oh.’

‘God knows why he decided to sponsor a literary festival. He never reads. Maybe he thought it would make him look respectable. I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?’

I told her.

‘And you’re a writer? I’m afraid I haven’t read anything by you, but then I don’t read much either. Well, you’re going to have to forgive me. I really have had a long day. It was nice to meet you. Good night.’

She disappeared in the direction of the hallway. I saw her turn left, presumably heading for the stairs. I looked at my watch and saw that it was ten past nine. I thought of leaving too.

Charles le Mesurier must have been waiting for her to go because the moment she was out of sight, he meandered across to the archway leading into the kitchen. He had noticed Kathryn Harris – in her French-maid costume – standing on the other side, helping herself to the last cheese puff on one of the plates. The crowd was beginning to thin out a little – perhaps people didn’t keep late nights in Alderney – so I saw what happened next quite clearly.