‘The stupid bitch of an actress. I told you they were giving her two designer dresses – one from Chanel costing an absolute fortune and the other one from Valentino – and now the stupid bitch has gone into the wardrobe department and taken a pair of scissors to all the other costumes.’

Jane and Spencer looked on wide-eyed. Bergman grabbed a suede coat from the back of his chair, muttered a fleeting apology and hurried out of his office. They heard him screaming for Margaret to get him a taxi.

Jane and Spencer looked at each other, shaking their heads. After a few moments, Rita popped her head around the door.

‘Julia Summers is in reception for you.’

Julia Summers looked typically posh. Her hair was held back with a neat Alice band and she wore a maroon suit, pale stockings and court shoes, with a strand of expensive-looking pearls around her neck. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she had obviously been crying.

‘I came as soon as I heard the dreadful news,’ she said.

Jane turned to Rita. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’

‘Well, ’is office is obviously empty now.’

Julia shook her head. ‘Could we go to the little coffee annex?’

‘That would be fine,’ Jane replied.

Julia led them down the corridor and through a side door. There was a small kitchen area with a table and four chairs. Julia sat down between them, with a small overnight bag beside her.

‘It must have been a great shock for you, Julia,’ Spencer said gently.

Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I still can’t believe it.’

‘When was the last time you saw Mr. Foxley?’ he asked.

She took a deep breath. ‘It would have been the day before I left. My aunt had got severe angina, and her housekeeper had some family matter to attend to, and when I explained this to Charles he said I must go.’

‘So that would have been on . . . ?’ Spencer started taking notes.

‘Monday. And I really only expected to be there overnight, but my aunt’s condition worsened, so I called in and spoke to Rita to say that I would stay in Devon.’ She fumbled in her pocket and took out a tissue to blow her nose. ‘I’m awfully sorry, but I still just can’t believe it.’

‘How long have you worked for Mr. Foxley?’ Jane asked.

‘Almost eighteen months.’

‘Could I ask how old you are?’ Jane said with a smile.

‘Yes, I’ve just turned eighteen. To be honest, I’m really a sort of go-between for Mr. Foxley and Emma. Or rather, I started that way, but more recently I’ve worked mostly for Charl . . . Mr. Foxley.’

‘Do you have his diary?’ Jane asked quietly.

‘Do you mean his desk diary?’

‘Yes, do you have his desk diary?’