I wasn’t about to take issue with this sweeping statement about women’s health. ‘As I say, Ingrid looked pretty robust to me.’

‘And what about the marbles?’

‘All firmly in place.’

‘So, the fact that at times she almost raised self-neglect to an art form …?’

‘Seemed to have done her no harm at all.’

‘Except, of course, now she’s dead. So, something’s done her some harm.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

Our conversation was interrupted by Grace suggesting we moved to the table. Lunch was ready.

And, of course, it too could have been photographed for a cookbook. Chicken tagine with almonds and apricots. Couscous, a salad of peas, broad beans and, yes, edamame beans. I can cook but these days I’d very rarely go to that kind of trouble. Truth is, I’m usually cooking for just me. And that’s a pleasure of diminishing returns.

For the first bit of the lunch, Niall took it upon himself to entertain me with anecdotes of dangerous times in foreign parts. They were well-polished stories and he told them well. Grace reacted as if they were new to her, for which I gave her full marks. In his day, and after a few drinks, Oliver had been an expert and very funny raconteur, so I had been cast in Grace’s role, never revealing that I’d heard it all before. Many times.

I politely refused refills of my glass, but Niall had soon polished off the first bottle of Burgundy and picked up another which had already been opened. With identical label, I noticed. I felt sure that, underneath us, there was a well-stocked cellar.

Grace was making her very diluted spritzer last. She was extremely – almost excessively – pleasant to me, but I couldn’t lose awareness of the distance between us. I got the impression that she was one of those people who’s so accomplished no one ever gets close to them. Though maybe Niall did. Or didn’t.

Having recharged his glass from the new bottle, he homed back in on the subject of Ingrid Richards.

‘Ellen, when you said you thought she was risk-aware, did you mean you thought she was unlikely to have started the fire by accident?’

‘That’s exactly what I meant.’ Then, feeling that might sound a bit bald, I added, ‘But unlikely things do happen.’

‘Oh, they do, sure. You don’t need to tell a war correspondent that.’

‘Incidentally,’ I said, ‘I think even more unlikely is the possibility that Ingrid might have deliberately lit the fire herself.’

‘Ellen, I’m with you all the way there. She had a very well-developed instinct for self-preservation – not to mention self-love. And she was far too curious about the future to want to top herself.’

‘I agree.’ I didn’t say more. I wanted to know in which direction he was angling the conversation. There was certainly something he wanted from me. An opinion, a vindication …? I didn’t know.

‘So,’ Niall continued, ‘if you’re ruling out an accident …’

‘I didn’t rule it out. Just said I thought it was unlikely.’