“No thanks,” Lindsay replied. She might have to take Claire’s money; but she was damned if she would accept anything that fell outside the ambit of a purely professional relationship. At least Cordelia wasn’t here to churn up her emotions again, she thought with a mixture of relief and regret. “So, you said that Jackie wants my help,” she added, perching on the edge of a pine-framed armchair.

Claire pushed her glasses up her nose in a nervous gesture. “That’s right,” she said. “Look, before we start, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I realize it must have been something of a shock for you, and I’m sorry if I was less than helpful.”

Lindsay shrugged. “What exactly did Jackie want me to do?”

Claire was clearly unsettled by Lindsay’s ungracious response to her apology, and walked over to the window to stare out at the mist-shrouded water. “She thought you could establish her innocence.”

“But why? What made her think I could succeed where the police and her own lawyers had failed? Surely if there had been anything to go on you would have hired a private detective before the trial.”

Having recovered her poise, Claire turned back and sat down on the edge of the sofa. Lindsay couldn’t help picturing Cordelia curled up there beside her, watching television or just talking. She pushed the bitter thought aside and forced herself to listen to Claire. “We didn’t go to a conventional private detective because Jackie didn’t believe that we’d find one who would genuinely be on our side. I have to say that in my experience professionally with the breed, I wouldn’t expect to find one who was sympathetic to a gay woman. Jackie thought you’d believe her. And she thought you’d have a vested interest in finding out the truth. She knew about your own affair with Alison, knew you’d understand what she’d been put through.”

Lindsay lit a cigarette without her usual courtesy of asking permission first. Claire leapt to her feet, saying, “I’ll get you an ashtray.” She disappeared through another door and returned moments later with an ostentatiously large crystal ashtray. Lindsay felt that using it would be like shouting in a museum. Claire placed it on the occasional table next to Lindsay’s chair and said, “Well, will you help? She didn’t do it, you know.” There was a note of desperation in her voice that touched Lindsay in spite of herself.

Wearily, Lindsay nodded. “I’ll do what I can,” she said. “My daily rate is £100 plus expenses. I’d expect a week’s payment in advance, as a retainer,” she added quickly, amazed at how easily it came out.