‘Thank you, Miss Grey.’

Monica Grey returned to her seat as Baxter sat down and Vernon was called. He made an impressive figure in the dock, erect and manly in a well-cut suit, the Guards tie standing out against a snow white shirt. His occupation was given as company director, which made the impression on the jury that Miller had expected.

‘Mr Vernon, how long had you known the deceased?’

‘About four months,’ Vernon said. ‘Miss Monica Grey, an employee of mine, brought her to a party at my place one night. I understood they’d been students together.’

‘And you became close friends?’

‘I think it would be fair to say that.’ Vernon shrugged. ‘As an artist, she had real talent and I admired her work. I commissioned her to paint a series of murals at my club.’

‘I see.’ The coroner’s voice was dry, remote. ‘Was the relationship ever anything more than a business one?’

‘I took her to dinner now and then or to the theatre. We got on very well together. I liked her immensely.’

‘And on occasion you were intimate with her?’

Vernon managed to inject just the right amount of outrage into his voice when he replied. ‘The girl’s dead, damn you! Can’t she be left in peace!’

There was a flurry of movement amongst the jury, an outburst of whispering. One man even nodded approvingly and the coroner had to call for silence.

He removed his spectacles and leaned back in his chair.

‘Mr Vernon, I can respect your feelings in this matter, but I must insist on a reply – and you are still under oath, sir.’

Vernon’s shoulders sagged. ‘Yes, we were intimate.’ He drew himself up suddenly and glared fiercely at the coroner. ‘And why not? She wasn’t a child. It was our own affair.’

The coroner replaced his spectacles and examined the papers before him again. ‘Were you aware that she had become a drug addict?’

‘Certainly not. Do you think I could have stood by and done nothing if I’d known?’

‘We’ve already heard that on the night she died, she appeared at a private party you were giving at your club.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What happened on that occasion?’

‘There really isn’t much to tell. She was depressed and unhappy. She told me that she’d lost the urge to paint, that life didn’t seem worth living any longer. I realize, in retrospect, that it was the drugs which had reduced her to that state. I advised her to go home. She’d told me previously that she and her father hadn’t been seeing eye to eye, but it seemed to me that didn’t matter any longer. That home was the best place for her.’

‘How did she react to that advice?’

‘She didn’t, I’m afraid. I went to get her a drink. When I returned, she’d gone.’