‘Yes. That’s what the detective sergeant asked me about.’ I realized she must have given me her name, but I couldn’t remember it.

Alexandra took another long swallow of Pinot Grigio. When she resumed, there was a new note in her voice, as if she was fishing for something. ‘He didn’t say anything else, did he?’

‘She. It was a woman.’

‘Ah. It was only men who talked to me.’

‘Probably quite a big team on an investigation like that.’

‘Yes.’ Again, the wheedling note. ‘So, did this detective sergeant ask about anything else?’

‘No. Why should she?’

‘I don’t know. I was just wondering whether she gave any indication of what they thought had happened … you know, with Ingrid …?’

‘I’m sure, if the police had reached any conclusions on the subject, they wouldn’t be about to share them with me, would they?’

‘No. No, probably not.’ Another slurp of wine. Then, ‘Did she actually use the word “accident”?’

‘Not so far as I recall.’ I took a sip of mineral water. ‘Why? Is there some thought it might not have been an accident?’

‘No,’ she said quickly. Too quickly? She certainly seemed keen to change the subject. ‘Do you mind if I put someone else in touch with you?’

‘Someone else with a hoarding problem?’

‘No. This is still about Ingrid.’

‘Oh?’

‘The fact is …’ She seemed both embarrassed and excited as she said, ‘There’s someone else who’s very intrigued by what happened in Ingrid’s last hours.’

She paused, controlling the narrative at her own pace. ‘He’s a journalist. Called Niall Connor.’ A dramatic pause. ‘He’s my father.’

She had unleashed the revelation so dramatically that I hadn’t the heart to tell her I already knew about her paternity.

‘Anyway, he’s been knocked sideways by the news about Ingrid’s death.’

‘I thought you told me you weren’t in touch with him,’ I said.

‘No, not for a long time.’ She blushed. ‘But he has contacted me recently.’

‘I hope that’s good news.’

‘Oh, it is. But, anyway, Niall would love to talk to you.’

‘Fine.’

‘So, I can give him your number?’

‘Of course. It’s on my website, in all the directories, under SpaceWoman.’ I have no qualms about giving anyone my work number. My personal mobile I’m less generous with.

‘That’s great, Ellen.’ She seemed disproportionately relieved. ‘So … expect a call from Niall Connor.’

‘I will.’

At that moment, our food arrived, and we settled down to the serious business of eating fish and chips. Alexandra ordered herself another Pinot Grigio.

We didn’t talk much more about Ingrid Richards. Alexandra told me a few more details of her personal history. How much she’d disliked being a primary school teacher. How relieved she had been when the legacy from her grandmother had allowed her to give it up.

I discovered that the charity she worked for, on a voluntary basis, was a donkey sanctuary near Battle, just a bit north of Hastings. Apparently, she’d always liked donkeys.