By the time I had bathed and had come downstairs, wrapped in Celia Johnson, the smell of something wonderful was emanating from the kitchen and Morris was laying the table in the breakfast room. ‘I thought some comfort food,’ he told me, taking my empty brandy glass, ‘so I’ve made a shepherd’s pie. Your clothes are in the tumble dryer,’ he added, ‘they’ll be ready by the time we’ve eaten.’

I felt like bursting into tears. ‘You are wonderful,’ I gave him a big hug.

Ricky came in with three very large wine glasses. ‘Merlot or Shiraz?’ he asked, as he set them down. ‘Or there’s a nice Rioja.’

‘I’ll never be able to drive home,’ I protested.

‘No, you won’t! Anyway, you’re staying the night,’ he informed me firmly.

‘I can’t. The police are coming to take my statement.’

‘Don’t fuss! I phoned Adam, told him where you are. The police can come round here if they’re that anxious to see you.’

I felt I should argue, but the thought of going home to my empty flat suddenly seemed too depressing. So I sat down and ate too much shepherd’s pie and drank too much red wine and we talked about poor Albert Evans and his watery demise and the significance of a certain dark-blue BMW; and why Bert had been sneaking about Nick’s place, and whether Vlad and Igor − for undoubtedly it was their BMW − were really searching for something in Bert’s house, or whether they had trashed it to make it look like burglary gone wrong. In which case, why had they killed him?

The police didn’t call till next morning, as it turned out, and I went to bed in Ricky and Morris’s spare bedroom, slightly drunk and very full and sure I would sleep like a baby. But sleep eluded me, and as the little bedside clock ticked its way through the small hours, all the things we had talked about that evening went round in my brain until I didn’t know what to think. Only one thing I was sure of. If I wanted to know what Bert was after, I was going to have to break into Nick’s place to find out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I didn’t need to as it turned out. Break in. Fortunately, I took a few days to ponder the wisdom of the scheme. After all, I didn’t know what Bert might have been looking for. Perhaps he knew about the money Nick kept hidden in the place. Perhaps he wasn’t trying to break in at all, he was just being nosy. But I didn’t really believe that. He was after something. Was that something the thing that had got him murdered? And was Vlad after the same thing when he had killed Nick?