‘Might you try to queer the pitch of another journalist by giving them false information?’

‘Of course we would. That was part of the game. Go for the scoop yourself and then put the other journos off the scent. Everyone was doing it. We had some unchanging rules of behaviour, the basic one being: “Don’t make stuff up.” Other than that, there were no rules. Everyone knew the score. But again, “underhand” is far too judgmental a word for what was going on.’

‘I can’t help noticing, Ellen,’ said Grace, charming as ever, ‘that, though all this is very interesting, it doesn’t seem to have much to do with Ingrid Richards’ death.’

‘I’m getting there,’ I said.

‘Good,’ she said, in a rather schoolmistressy tone.

‘I was asking Niall about Ingrid’s memoir, because I wanted to know whether he might be worried about anything she might write in it.’

He smiled blandly. ‘My back is broad. Criticism is an essential part of the journalist’s work. You can’t please all the people all of the time. And, if Ingrid had scores to settle with me’ – he shrugged – ‘then let her write about them. No skin off my nose.’

‘No? I want to ask you about the events of 1986.’

‘Fine by me. An important year in my life, perhaps the most important year.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘The year your daughter was born, apart from anything else.’

He gave a mock wince and Grace, I noticed, pursed her lips ever so slightly. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘though it was not until some years later that I knew of her existence. And I’m not going to pretend that it was news I welcomed. I don’t think her mother did, either.’

That possibly confirmed my conjecture that Ingrid, hospitalized by her shrapnel injuries, had not realized she was pregnant until it was too late for an abortion.

Niall continued, ‘Call me callous and unpaternal if you like, but I’m not going to pretend that, for me, Alex’s appearance was the most important event of that year.’ He affected an expression of boredom. ‘Do you want me once again to go through the whole story of Paul McClennan’s escape from his captors?’

‘No. I know all the details of that.’

‘Good. Then you will understand that springing a hostage in Beirut was probably the high spot of 1986 for me.’

‘Yes.’ Time to change tack. ‘Niall, do you know who I mean when I say the name Phil Dickie?’

‘Of course I do. Had a good few late-night drinking sessions with him at the Commodore. He was the cameraman with Ingrid when she was injured by the car bomb in Beirut.’

‘Yes. He was injured too.’

‘I know that.’

‘Much worse than she was.’

‘Where is all this going, Ellen?’ he asked wearily.

‘Have you seen Phil Dickie since that time?’

‘No. Why should I have done? I don’t even know if he’s still alive.’

‘Oh, he is. I saw him yesterday.’

‘Really?’ For the first time, his composure was slightly diminished. He and Grace exchanged looks.