There were interesting depths to the relationship between Edward Finch and Cara Reece. Interesting for a psychologist, that is, not depths I needed to investigate. Not at that point, anyway.

‘As I said,’ Cara went on – I got the feeling she was a bit of a talker, ‘I’m so pleased that you’re going to be helping Eddie. If I give you my number, will you keep me up to date with how things go?’

‘Assume they’re fine unless you hear from me.’ I said this for reasons of client confidentiality. My work often leads to the uncovering of personal secrets which should not be spread around. Like, say, someone confessing to having murdered his wife.

Maybe Cara’s thoughts were moving in the same direction, because she asked, rather anxiously, ‘Eddie didn’t say anything to you, did he … about the circumstances of Pauline’s death …?’

‘No,’ I lied cheerfully.

I ended the conversation with Cara but was frustrated from driving off by another phone call.

‘Hi, it’s Alexandra Richards.’ She sounded so much more animated than she had on our previous encounter that I hardly recognized her voice. Before I could say anything, she went on, ‘I’ve talked to Ingrid and she’s happy to see you.’

‘Oh, well done. Will you be there?’

‘No. She says she wants it to be just the two of you when she interviews you.’

‘Oh, I see.’ I was amused. ‘She’s going to interview me, is she?’

Alexandra didn’t answer that. She said, ‘Could you make it this evening?’

I had no plans beyond cooking myself something and a bit of random television, so I agreed. ‘You said she lives in Brighton …?’

She gave me the address in Brunswick Square. Hove technically, of course, rather than Brighton. Not cheap, though. Top-floor apartment in one of those lovely old Grade I Regency houses built round the central garden on three sides and facing the sea.

‘Would six o’clock be all right for you, Ellen?’

‘I could do that, yes.’

‘One thing …’ Alexandra added.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you drink?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because she does.’

I hadn’t got anything else booked until my meeting – or should I say ‘interview’ – with Ingrid Richards. I reminded myself to check her out on Wikipedia when I got back. Alexandra had said her mother was famous, and the name did ring a distant bell, so I should at least do some basic research.

But when I reached home, I got diverted by the bloody invoices – not too many overdue, but they still needed doing. I am actually quite organized, and the accountant rarely has to bully me about paperwork. I’m good with money and got better with it when I was looking after the business side of Oliver’s work. But I cannot claim that I find it the most interesting part of the job. I dream of a time when SpaceWoman might have a finance director, but I know it’s never going to happen. I’m a one-woman band and, actually, I’m not sure that I’d like being joined by other musicians.