He relented. ‘Look, it’s not easy today,’ he said. ‘There’s some trouble: the Teddies are kicking off a bit, having a go at the coppers. Revenge for Liberation Day, that’s the word.’

‘I’ll do it all. You can just sit in Hazel’s room and listen.’

He disliked the idea, but I had known that he would. This would be the last time he would humour me, I suspected. ‘All right,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.’

‘Thank you.’

He hung up and I dialled again.

‘The consulting rooms of Nicholas Cawson, Charles O’Shea speaking.’

‘Hello, Charles, it’s Jane Cawson. Can you put me through to my husband, please?’

‘I’m sorry, he’s with a patient.’

‘Charles, this is urgent,’ I said. ‘Absolutely urgent.’

‘All right,’ he replied. He lowered his voice. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

‘Yes. Thank you. Just put me through, please.’ Perhaps he would eavesdrop, but there was little that I could do about that.

The line went quiet for a minute, then there was a click as it was picked up in Nick’s room. His voice came on. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got something to tell you. Show you, really. I don’t want you to be shocked.’

‘What?’ he sounded surprised.

‘It’s about Lorelei. Her death.’

‘What are you talking about? What’s it got to do with you?’ He was trying to control a burst of anger. It just made me more resolved. ‘I had to get rid of a patient for this.’

‘It’s about her death, Nick. I know something about it.’

He paused. I could picture him struggling with all the possibilities. ‘What do you know?’

‘I’ve found something.’

‘Then spit it out.’

‘She was drugged. By the time I got there, she was already dying.’

Silence again. Longer this time. His voice was slow and measured. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘She was blind when I got to her and she was dying. She hadn’t been beaten up, though, so she must have been drugged.’

‘How?’

‘The bottle of Champagne. It was on the floor beside her when she died. I think it was in there. They sent over a box of things of hers today and the bottle was in it – they checked it for fingerprints but they won’t have tested it for drugs. So it might have some traces in it.’ Then I asked a question – a lot was riding on it. ‘Do you think I should call the police and tell them?’

I waited. The line hissed and I heard him breathing. If he said yes, I would know he had had nothing to do with her death. If he said no, well …

‘Take it to the police?’ he repeated.

‘Yes.’ My nerves strained under my skin. ‘Do you think I should?’