‘Where have you been living up until now?’ I asked kindly.

‘Oh, with a colleague and his wife. They had a spare room so I’ve been there for a couple of months. It was rather nice, actually. Kensington.’

He looked at me, slightly competitively, I felt.

‘Oh, right. Well, I’m sorry you’re slumming it down in Sands End, but I’m sure you’ll struggle on. Now, I’ve left you with milk and bread, and the tea and coffee jars are full. Also the sugar.’

He nodded and moved towards the study as I muttered, ‘No no, my pleasure,’ to myself. He opened the door. Aside from getting Molly Maids in to clean it assiduously once I’d got the go-ahead from the police, the door was always firmly shut.

‘You worked in here?’ he asked, peering in.

‘I used to,’ I said shortly. ‘OK, I’m off. Good luck.’

‘You too.’ He shut the door and looked at me curiously. It struck me it was the first pleasant thing he’d said: a recognition of the fact that there were two of us embarking on new chapters in our lives here. But there was no way I was going to prolong the conversation and say something whimsical like that, so I just nodded and made my way out to my car.

The car itself was crammed to bursting with cases, bags, dresses, coats on hangers and bulging bin liners. Behind it was a trailer that Ant had borrowed for me, courtesy of some TV set he’d been working on. That, too, was full, the roof forced on with some effort. But an awful lot of stuff had gone to Oxfam. Not Nefertiti, or Diana, I loved them too much, but a fair amount of blue and white china, masses of clothes and books, and generally a great deal of clutter, because, as so many people told me, I didn’t need it in my life any more.

Apparently I didn’t need to hang around for legal reasons, either. The police had finally called, to apologize for their lack of progress, and when I’d explained I was decamping to the country they’d been understanding. They had asked for my parents’ address, though, in case they needed to get in touch with me again.