‘He was feeling ill. He had an idea things were going wrong in the background. Mrs Rubrick obviously was upset. I see now that it was the trouble with Cliff Johns and Markins that had put her in a difficult mood. She didn’t tell him about Cliff and Markins, I’m sure, but she dropped dark hints about ingratitude and disappointment. She was always doing it. She kept saying that she stood alone, that other women in her position had somebody to whom they could turn and that she had nobody. He sat over there in the window, listening, with his hand shading his eyes, just taking it. I could have murdered her.’

This statement was met by a scandalized hush.

‘A commonplace exaggeration,’ said Fabian at last. ‘I’ve used it repeatedly myself in speaking of Flossie. “I could have murdered her.” I suppose she got home with her cracks at Uncle Arthur, didn’t she? Every time a coconut?’

‘Yes,’ said Terence. ‘She got home.’

A longer silence followed. Alleyn felt certain that Terence had reached a point in her story where something was to be withheld from her listeners. The suggestion of antagonism, never long absent from her manner, now deepened. She set her lips and, after a quick look into the shadow where he sat, took up her work again with an air of finality.

‘Funny,’ said Fabian suddenly. ‘I thought she seemed to be rather come-hither-ish with Uncle Arthur during that last week. There was a hint of skittishness which I found extremely awe-inspiring. And, I may say, extremely unusual. You must have noticed it, all of you. What was she up to?’

‘Honestly, Fabian darling,’ said Ursula, ‘you are too difficult. At one moment you find fault with Auntie Floss for neglecting Uncle Arthur and at the next you complain because she was nice to him. What should she have done, poor darling, to please you and Terry?’

‘How old was she?’ Douglas blurted out. ‘Forty-seven, wasn’t it? Well, I mean to say, she was jolly spry for her age, wasn’t she? I mean to say…well, I mean, there it was…I suppose—’

‘Let it pass, Douglas,’ Fabian said kindly. ‘We know what you mean. But I can’t think that Florence’s sudden access of playfulness was entirely due to natural or even pathological causes. There seemed to me to be a distinct suggestion of proprietary rights. What I have I hold. The bitch, if you will excuse the usage, Douglas, in the marital manger.’

‘It’s entirely inexcusable,’ said Ursula, ‘and so are you, Fab.’