‘I’d have put it in the fridge before I went to bed,’ Charles said in unnecessary explanation. ‘Once it had cooled completely.’ Instead, he now put it back in the oven and set a timer for twenty minutes.

‘I always use this thing now,’ he said, holding up the clockwork timer. ‘I’ve recently been putting things in the Aga and forgetting about them, only to find them completely black and carbonised several days later. Must be my old age.’

I don’t know about that. Both Marina and I had often done the same in our Aga, usually with stuffing or sausages.

While we waited for the pie to reheat, Charles fetched three tumblers and a bottle of fine Scotch from his dining room.

‘Don’t suppose you have any beer?’ Chico asked as Charles poured the amber spirit into the second glass.

‘Beer?’

‘Any beer will do. I’d much rather have that than drink your whisky.’

Charles gave him a look of incredulity that anyone could prefer a beer to his ten-year-old single malt but, nevertheless, he waved a hand towards the large fridge in the corner. ‘I think there’s some in there, but it might be out of date.’

Chico found two bottles of lager hiding behind some salad dressings on one of the lower shelves in the fridge door.

‘Left over from someone’s visit, I think,’ said Charles. ‘Can’t remember who. How about you, Sid?’

‘I’m very happy with one of these,’ I said, picking up one of the tumblers. ‘Thank you, Charles.’

Twenty-five years of drinking whisky with my ex-father-in-law had given me a discerning taste for fine Scotch.

We sat at the kitchen table waiting for the twenty-minute timer to ring, Charles and I drinking from the finest Waterford cut glass, while Chico drank his lager direct from the bottle.

‘You don’t happen to have a tape recorder, do you, Charles?’ I asked.

‘What for?’

‘I’d like you to tape me saying something. I know I’ve already told you some of the things I’ve found out but I think it would be better to get my voice recorded as I say it, just in case there’s a problem.’

Anton Valance’s reference to hearsay not being admissible in a criminal court had worried me somewhat, especially as, if anything happened to me, Charles would not only have to recount to the police and the racing authority what I had said to him, but much of that was also what other people had said to me. Hearsay of hearsay. Very dubious. At least with my voice directly recorded it would be one degree less removed.

‘I can do even better than that,’ he said. ‘I have a video camera somewhere.’

‘Perfect. Let’s do it after we’ve eaten.’

On cue, the timer went off.