I sat on her bed. She had a scrapbook open, displaying articles cut from the Morning Star. Each was a story or photograph about Lorelei in the years after Victory 1945. There was even a grainy picture of her meeting the First Secretary outside the gala premiere for one of her films – the art historian Anthony Blunt loved the highest forms of art, but he also understood the reach of the lower ones. The power of giving people a narrative to live through.

‘I don’t know. I think we can arrange that in a few days’ time. Your dad will do it later.’ I tried to make it sound like I had no doubt he would be back soon.

‘OK.’

I leafed through the scrapbook. ‘These are about your mum, aren’t they?’ I noticed that the stories about Lorelei stopped abruptly in 1948, even though there was still space left in the book. That must have been when she disappeared from view.

‘Yeah.’

I had to ask her again about the photograph from her father’s desk, though. ‘So this woman was at your house.’

‘I think so.’

‘Do you –’

The sound of knocking on the front door, rapid and demanding, made me stop. Cautiously, I went downstairs to answer it. I didn’t know who it would be. I just hoped to God it wasn’t the Secs.

The second I turned the latch, however, Detective Sergeant Tibbot entered without a word. He waited until the door had closed behind him and indicated I should lock it firmly. Then he spoke.

‘There are some things you don’t talk about on the phone.’

12

The look on Tibbot’s face as he entered the house was serious. He came close. ‘Do you know all your neighbours by sight?’

‘All the immediate ones, yes.’

‘Seen anyone new?’

‘No.’

We went into the parlour. ‘Your husband is still in Great Queen Street,’ he said. ‘They’re accusing him of killing his ex-wife.’ I felt the air rush out of me. I wanted to cry out that it wasn’t possible, but he wasn’t finished. ‘I’m sorry to say that’s worse than you think.’

My voice caught in my throat. ‘How?’ I stammered.

‘Do you remember when I saw you at the location of the incident, your husband told me he had been on a call at a patient’s house when the death occurred?’

‘Yes.’ I could tell what was coming. Nick had lied. He had been at Lorelei’s after all. Somehow I hadn’t seen him.

‘Well, you see –’

I heard Hazel’s door open. Tibbot halted abruptly.

‘Hazel?’ I called up the stairs.

‘Yes?’

I went to the foot of the staircase. She was on the landing above. ‘Someone has come to see me, to help make sure your dad is OK,’ I told her. ‘It’s very important that I speak to him. Could you do something for me?’

‘What?’