‘I was obviously in a terrible state . . . I drove home. I couldn’t think straight. I was so shocked and I really only meant to try and calm myself down. I remember pouring a glass of whisky and taking a diazepam that I had been prescribed for anxiety, but I couldn’t stop shaking and crying. I went upstairs to the bedroom. I just desperately wanted to block it all out of my mind . . . to not see his body. I took some sleeping tablets; I don’t even recall how many I took. I tried to come downstairs and that’s where George found me – at the bottom of the stairs. I must have fallen as I had bruises on my arm and thigh, but I don’t remember. George called an ambulance and I was taken to St Mary’s.’

There was a pause as Miller flicked through his notebook.

‘On the two previous occasions you had attempted suicide, did you use the same tablets?’

She leaned back on the sofa. ‘Those incidents were some considerable time ago. The first time I took Librium, which are sleeping tablets. I did not intend to take my life. I just wanted to sleep because my then-husband was discussing the divorce and it was becoming unbearable.’

Miller tapped his notebook. ‘Did you write a note?’

‘No, I called my mother. I was very upset and I was concerned about my daughter Clara, who, at that time, was at home. It was my mother who found me.’

‘And the second time?’ Miller asked.

Justine rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. ‘I did this,’ she said, revealing two large scars on her wrist. ‘I just couldn’t take it anymore and by then I had found out about my husband’s perversions. I was frightened he would try to move back into the house, but in actual fact it was Charles who came and found me in the bathroom.’

‘Did you write a note that time?’ Miller asked.

‘I phoned Charles at his office and told him that I was never going to see him again.’ She rolled her sleeves back down. ‘You have to understand, being married to Charles was like living in a nightmare. Beneath all the charm and bon viveur, he was a deeply angry and disturbed man.’

At that moment the door opened and Toots, the dachshund, trotted into the room. George Henson held firmly onto Jack, the Jack Russell cross, by the scruff of his neck.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but Stick has got out through the back-garden hedge and he’s wandering around on the common!’