‘What makes it interesting,’ Chrissie went on, ‘is that it starts very quietly, with the subterranean rustle of a worm turning. The Greenfords had lived quietly enough in Ilkley with no one knowing much about them for more than twenty years, possibly from when they were first married. They didn’t have children. Gwyneth was a quiet soul, but perfectly amiable. Worked in the Vauxhall car dealership. Often seen around the shops, always with a pleasant word for everyone. Not many close friends, so far as people could tell, but a number of acquaintances, with whom she would meet from time to time at coffee mornings.

‘Adrian was more of an extrovert. Also worked in the motor trade, selling second-hand cars. Was away a lot for work, it seems, but quite a well-known figure round the pubs of Ilkley. What used to be called a “man’s man” … don’t know if the expression’s still used. Seemed most at ease with a pint jug in his hand and a slightly off-colour joke on his lips. Such a stereotype – so many more men like him – that he made as little impression as his wife did. Ordinary people, heads rarely seen above the parapet. That is, until eighteen months ago …’

‘Nearer two years,’ Karen interposed, then shrank from the look of mock-fury that was turned on her. ‘I know, because it was soon after I moved up here.’

‘Very well,’ Chrissie snapped. ‘Nearer two years. Anyway, it seems that Adrian Greenford had an affair. Had been having an affair for some while. Not a big deal, you may think, in the scheme of things. At any given moment, I’m sure any number of people in a town like Ilkley are having affairs. And you might have thought, allowing for a bit of prurient gossip, it was nobody’s business except for the couple involved. And maybe the third party involved. I’m sure that’s how Adrian Greenford hoped it would be.

‘Unfortunately for him, Gwyneth didn’t see it the same way. As I said, it started with a worm turning, but the worm pretty soon took on dragon-like proportions. “Hell hath no fury”, and all that. You hear of spurned wives smashing the contents of their husbands’ wine cellars and cutting up their suits. Gwyneth Greenford’s revenge was more public than that. From being invisible, she suddenly became very visible. She had leaflets printed, stating that “ADRIAN GREENFORD IS AN ADULTERER”, and she took them into all his favourite pubs. The landlords didn’t let them stay for long, but enough people saw them for the damage to be done. She stuck similar posters over the front of their house and – the final indignity for a petrol-head like Adrian Greenford – she spray-painted the same slogan over his precious E-Type Jag. Was ever a man so humiliated?’

‘And what happened to the other woman? Adrian’s mistress, girlfriend, whatever?’