Lindsay rolled off the bed and undressed, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor, too tired even to throw them on a chair. She swallowed the remains of her drink in one and crawled between the sheets. She turned out the light and started to review her day. But she was asleep before she even got as far as the prison gates.

“I spent today decoding the entries. Here’s a copy of the original, and here’s a copy of my version of it. I’ve used highlighter pens to mark the ones that I think might have some relevance to my inquiries. As you’ll see, about seventy per cent of her lovers were men, the rest women. Interestingly enough, although she often had several male lovers on the go concurrently, she usually stuck to one woman at a time.” Lindsay handed the sheets of paper to Claire.

She had arranged a meeting with her employer to discuss her progress so far, and to see if Claire could shed some light on the problem entries she’d uncovered. Lindsay had not bargained for Cordelia’s presence at the meeting, and she felt distinctly uncomfortable at the sight of her former lover leaning over Claire’s shoulder examining her work. They looked right together, she thought bitterly, in their designer jogging suits and trainers. Cordelia really had come home at last.

“What a weirdo!” Cordelia exclaimed as she read the entries. “But how can we be sure that this is accurate? How do you know she didn’t just make it all up?”

Lindsay blushed. “The implication has to be that she told it like it was. If you’ll take a look at the third page, there are several entries relating to me. Splash, she calls me. As far as I can recollect, her comments are accurate, if somewhat bitchy.”

“Why Splash?” asked Claire, flicking through to the relevant section. As she reached it her eyebrows rose. She shoved her glasses up her nose and looked up questioningly.

“I suppose because Lindsay was being a little megastar and always getting the front page at the time. You know, Claire, the front page is the splash. That’s right, isn’t it?” Cordelia said, the smile on her wide mouth failing to reach her gray eyes. Lindsay said nothing, while Cordelia read the sentences Claire pointed out to her with her pen. Cordelia giggled. “Only 8.8, Lindsay? I thought you reckoned you were at least eleven out of ten!”

“Like wine, I’ve improved with age,” Lindsay retorted caustically, feeling herself blush in spite of herself. “I’d like to get down to the business in hand . . . If you’ll turn to the second-last page, you’ll see the first entry which I interpret as relating to Jackie.”