‘Why can’t she mind her own damned business?’ Bella said angrily.

‘I didn’t see her personally,’ Nick said. ‘But from all accounts, she was worried about you. About what might happen if Ben showed up.’

‘Worried about herself and that precious school of hers more likely,’ Bella flashed back at him, lapsing momentarily into the harsher accent of her youth and then she seemed to pull up short. ‘No, that isn’t really fair. She does worry about me – always has.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Daft, when you think about it. She’s five years younger than me, but she started to do the thinking for both of us a long time ago.’

‘Can I see the letter?’

‘I’ve got it in a drawer in the bedroom. I’ll only be a second.’

She crossed to the only other door in the room, opened it and went in. Nick could see a luxuriously furnished bedroom in red and gold with a reproduction four-poster bed. She opened a drawer in a dressing-table and came back carrying the letter. It was a small sheet of official prison notepaper, folded to envelope size and dated a couple of days previously. It was brief and to the point. See you soon – Ben. Even the prison officer who censored mail could have taken no exception to such an innocent sounding message.

‘When did you get this?’

‘The day before yesterday.’

‘And you haven’t shown it to your husband?’

‘With his temper?’ She shook her head and tapped her fingers impatiently on the edge of the desk. ‘What would be the point? It might never happen. If he does show up, it’ll be more for old times’ sake than anything else. Ben would never do anything to hurt me.’

‘Then what are you worrying about?’

She laughed. ‘It seems to be Jean who’s doing all the worrying. Maybe you’d better have a chat with her.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘I’ll see if I can find her. She may still be in the kitchen. She was giving me a hand with the supper arrangements. You can’t trust these catering people out of your sight.’

The door closed behind her and Nick moved across to the fireplace. He was standing with one foot on the polished brass fender, gazing into the flames and thinking about Ben Garvald, when the door opened again.

Some things can happen in life which have such a devastating effect that, after them, nothing can ever be quite the same again. Nick Miller was caught in such a timeless moment when he turned to find Jean Fleming standing just inside the door.

She wore high-heeled shoes, dark stockings, a simple dress of black silk which was barely knee-length and left her arms bare. There was about her a tremendous quality of repose, of detachment, as she stood there looking across at him.