‘Have they told you what they’re after?’ This from Mitch.

‘God, no. A word of explanation would have been more than welcome, but you never get beyond the old excuse.’

‘Which is?’

‘“I’m only obeying orders, sir. Better ask my boss.”’

‘And have you?’ I ask.

‘I’m afraid not. There are special treats I save up for the weekend, but talking to DI Bullivant isn’t one of them.’

‘You’ve met him?’

‘No, but Nathan has. Water off a duck’s back, he says. Man’s as tight as a clam. Barely gives you the time of day.’

‘They’re searching Nathan’s place, too?’

‘No. I gather he had to meet them this morning at the golf club. I don’t think they parted friends. Ahh …’ He’s found the biscuit tin. ‘Only shortbread, I’m afraid, but help yourselves.’

While Bill pours the tea and opens the doors on the Aga for more warmth, Mitch asks him about Christianne. What was she like? He makes the question sound innocent, but I know this is simply bait on the line. He’s in full investigative mode now, and Bill seems to sense it.

‘Interesting question.’ He sits down at the big, bare table. ‘You’ll know she wasn’t well, but part of the magic of that dear, dear woman lay in the fact that she had guts as well as guile. She needed guts to cope with the thought of what was to come. And she needed guile to pretend that none of it much mattered.’

I chime in here and tell Mitch what a surprise it was to learn from McFaul just what an impact the disease had already made on their lives. She’d reach for a wine glass and miss. She had problems with her balance. Her legs obviously hurt her sometimes. But always there was a reason, an excuse, symptoms lightly dismissed, her body telling her she was simply getting older.

‘I had a friend with motor neurone disease,’ Mitch says.

‘Had?’

‘He’s dead now. He died last year at a hospice in Bristol. Horrible death. You somehow think that palliative care means what it says on the tin, that there’s nothing that can resist all the drugs we’ve dreamt up, but that’s just not true. He died in agony, physical, mental, spiritual, the lot. I was there at the end, supporting his partner. The guy thought it was unspeakable. I think it opened his eyes.’

‘To what?’

‘To just how unprepared we really are. Death’s become a commodity, almost a lifestyle choice. You can have a good one, or a brilliant one, or it can sometimes happen without you really noticing. No one ever tells you it really bloody hurts.’