“You don’t think I’m of any use to you? After my brilliant performance with Mickey today?” She sounded shocked and hurt. “I can’t believe you’d say that, Darcy.”

“I think you’re wonderful, Zou Zou. But I’m asking myself if there’s anything you could do that we can’t. I don’t want to keep you here, wasting your time and spending your money.”

“But I’m enjoying myself. It’s thrilling. And I won’t rest until we’ve proved your father innocent and given him back his castle.”

“I don’t see how that is going to happen,” Darcy said. “Even if he is proven innocent, the property will pass to Mr. Roach’s heirs. He was the rightful owner, whoever he really was.”

“You never know,” Zou Zou said. “That’s one of the enjoyable things about life. You never know what will happen next. That’s why I feel so sorry for those poor people who go to an office or a bank on the eight thirty train every morning. They know exactly what will happen for the next twenty years, apart from a holiday in Folkestone or Margate. God, I’d shoot myself.”

We were driving through the village. I spotted my American reporter, talking and smoking with two men outside the Harp, and I wondered how long they’d be prepared to stay here if the time dragged on before the trial. As we left the village behind I thought I saw someone running after us. These reporters were certainly keen, but so far so good. As yet they hadn’t twigged to who I was. It was quite dark now and lights twinkled here and there in the blackness of the countryside.

“Come on, Darcy. Don’t be such a spoilsport. You can at least introduce me to your aunt and uncle,” Zou Zou said. “I’m dying to meet your relatives, even if they are batty.”

Darcy sighed. “Very well. But please don’t suggest that you stay with them.”

“Of course not. We’ll only pop in to say hello when you deliver Georgie.”

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable about this. Zou Zou was a lovely person. She was fun; she was generous. But why was she so keen to drop me off with Darcy’s great-aunt and then have Darcy drive her on to Dublin without me? Old insecurities resurfaced. I was quite sure that she and Darcy had been . . . well, more than friends . . . at one stage. I’ve noticed that one can tell from the way two people look at each other whether they’ve shared a bed or not. Did she want him back? Did she see me as a challenge? And would he bother to drive all the way back to Kilhenny at night when it would be so much easier to stay with her rather than pick her up in the morning?