‘And that would have angered him?’ Deneuve this time.

‘Of course.’

‘Why?’

‘Because all this stuff is man-made. People design these things, put them together, sell them, make a great deal of money. There are millions of them. Some will be there forever. He thought that was incomprehensible. Another word is obscene.’

‘Is that him talking?’

‘Me, as it happens. Though I know he’d agree.’

‘A meeting of minds, then?’ Cavendish is making herself a note. ‘Would that be fair?’

‘On this issue, definitely.’

‘And others? Was the system to blame? The profit motive? Corporate interests? The whole shebang?’

At last, probably far too late, I twig where all this idle chatter is leading. McFaul and little me have obviously been tucked up in some grand conspiracy to blow Western capitalism apart. Tony, too, is getting disturbed. He says he has an issue with this line of questioning. Please stick to the known facts. This is deeply supportive on Tony’s part, but I’m determined to clarify what I’m trying to say.

‘You’re right about McFaul.’ I’m looking at Deneuve. ‘He has lots of anger. He’s also difficult, solitary, and bloody hard to be with. He wants to keep you at arm’s length. I doubt he trusts anyone. He thinks life’s ganged up on him, he thinks he’s been fighting impossible odds, and then his partner, the woman he loves, falls ill with MND. She’s been disintegrating before his eyes for months. This is one of his mines exploding, but in slow motion. Anger’s probably too small a word. Bewilderment? Incomprehension? Would that cover it? In real life I happen to be an actress. My job is getting inside other people’s heads, most of them fictional. McFaul’s, if it’s of any relevance, I can barely imagine.’

There’s a long silence. I think I detect just a hint of approval, or maybe even admiration, in the blankness of Deneuve’s face. Then Cavendish flicks back several pages on her notepad and leans forward over the table.

‘You bought a mobile phone on the twenty-third of September at the Vodafone store in Exmouth. The purchase was logged at one-eighteen p.m. You paid for a hundred and fifty pounds of credit. We looked for that phone this morning, but we couldn’t find it.’ She looks up. ‘Might you tell us why?’

‘Because I gave it to McFaul.’

‘For what reason?’

‘Because he doesn’t have one. And because a man in his situation should be able to talk to others if and when he needs to.’

‘And you gave him your number?’

‘Of course.’

‘And has McFaul phoned?’

‘No.’

‘So you’ve no idea where he might be?’

‘None.’

‘Do you think he has support? Some kind of network?’

‘He had Christianne. That’s all he needed. Now she’s gone he could be anywhere.’