‘But seriously?’ I can almost taste her need for approval and I think she senses this because she suddenly changes the subject. ‘That lovely friend of yours,’ she says. ‘Evelyn. I meant it when we first met at Bill’s place. I thought she was fabulous in St Peter’s the other night. So wise, so funny, so authentic. Can I ask you a huge favour?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’m doing a series of short stories at the moment, all linked to a developing theme. I’ve called it The Water’s Edge. Do you think she might spare the time to take a look? Tell me how crap they are?’

‘I’m sure she’d be delighted.’

‘You’ll ask her?’

‘Of course.’

‘You’re a star.’ She’s beaming at me. ‘How’s the coffee?’

I tell her the coffee’s fine. I also get up and close the door. This appears to alarm her.

‘There’s no one here,’ she says, ‘apart from us.’

I say that doesn’t matter. I want to talk about Christianne.

‘You mean yesterday?’

‘I mean Christianne.’

‘Same thing, isn’t it? I thought it all went really well. That letter you read …’ She shakes her head. ‘Pure class.’

I choose to ignore the compliment, partly because the phrase ‘pure class’ is so poorly chosen, but mainly because I’ve realized that I’ve been right about her, that everything in this woman’s life is a performance. Yesterday on the beach wasn’t about Christianne at all. It was about her, and now about me. Wrong.

‘That story you told us at Bill’s the other night. Getting the phone call. Driving over to Christianne’s place. Picking them both up.’

‘Yes?’ She’s doing her best to look blank but failing completely.

‘Remind me again,’ I say.

‘About what?’

‘About how drunk they were.’

‘I told you. They were totally wasted, the pair of them. It’s obvious isn’t it? Would you ever do something like that sober?’

‘I agree, but that’s not the point.’

‘It isn’t?’

‘No.’

‘Then what are you telling me?’

‘I’m telling you that none of it happened.’

‘You think I’m lying?’ She’s staring at me, outraged.

‘I think you made it up. I talked to Andy last night. They released him. He’s out on bail.’

‘And?’

‘He said they hadn’t touched a drop. Either of them.’

‘Then he was kidding you.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘But did he deny being there? On the dock? Watching her go?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘What the fuck does that mean?’

‘It means he went along with the story. Sort of. But gave himself away at the end. This gives me no pleasure, but I set him a little trap.’

‘About the booze?’

‘Yes.’

‘A trap?’ She’s open-mouthed. ‘His partner’s committing suicide, ending it all, and you set him a trap? Who are you? Some kind of cop?’