‘Six months.’

‘Not very long.’ A pause. ‘Do you know where your husband really was this afternoon?’

‘With a patient.’

‘Who?’

He knew who. He had been there at the house when Nick told the policeman. He was testing me. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Think.’

It came to me. ‘Taggan! Comrade Taggan.’

‘And do you know who this man, Taggan, is?’

‘No.’

‘So how do you know your husband was there?’

‘Nick said so.’ But, as I said it, I realized how weak that sounded.

Grest nodded. He stepped half a pace away and picked up the scarf I had taken from Lorelei’s house. He played with it in his fingers. I was terrified about what he might do with it. ‘But you don’t know, do you?’

‘No.’

‘So he could be lying.’

Was that right? I supposed it had to be. ‘I don’t know,’ I said quietly.

The reasons I had had for doubting Nick had been absurd when I came to examine them in the clear light of day. But this man’s questions were confusing me, making me uncertain. Had Nick really been at Taggan’s? If he hadn’t, why would he say he had, when it could be checked quite easily? ‘What other secrets does your husband keep from you?’

‘He doesn’t … nothing.’

‘There must be something that he keeps from you, Mrs Cawson,’ he said. ‘Everyone keeps something back. What would it be?’

I heard the sounds of life outside: people nearby, traffic moving. I tried to think of something to tell him – to please him, somehow, so that he would leave me alone. ‘The … maybe something about being a doctor. He can’t tell me about his patients.’

‘He could if he wanted to.’

‘It wouldn’t be allowed.’

‘He could if he wanted to.’ He repeated it in the same precise tone.

‘Yes,’ I relented.

‘Yes.’ He looked me up and down and his voice changed: curious now, instead of accusatory. He let the scarf fall from his fingers. ‘Are you a Socialist, Mrs Cawson?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not a Party member, though.’

‘No. I’ll join if –’

‘Do you support the state?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do!’ That was still true, although right then I would have believed in or supported anything.

‘Some people don’t.’ He watched for a reaction.

‘I do.’

‘I believe you.’ He seemed satisfied and retreated just enough so that I could breathe freely and let my mind and body relax a little.

He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Where were you this evening?’ He said it plainly, as if any response held no real interest for him, and yet I realized straight away this was the question he had really wanted answered from the beginning. Somehow, though, because the other questions had been so invasive and this one was put so simply, without threat, I felt a strange urge to tell him the truth.

I forced myself to take a moment, however. ‘I’m sorry?’