I’m aware of a tiny shake of the head from Andrea, a shot across my bows. Softly, softly, she’s telling me. Don’t antagonize these people. Don’t piss them off. But I don’t care because I’m feeling far, far stronger and now is pay-back time. Yesterday this man humiliated me. Now I might regain just a little self-respect.

For the next hour or so, referring constantly to his notes, Bullivant explores and re-explores the key elements of his case against me, constantly changing his angle of attack, always trying to throw me off balance, but this time it doesn’t begin to work, chiefly because I have so little to remember. Stick to the known facts, I keep telling myself. And don’t stray off-piste.

Mid-morning, we take a break. Andrea pays another visit to the Costa down the road and I wait for her return, wondering how we’re doing. The answer, to my intense relief, is well. She’s pleased. Bullivant, she says, is beginning to repeat himself, and – something that’s obvious to both of us – he knows it. More, please. But steady as she goes.

The second session occupies the rest of the morning. So far, Bullivant hasn’t mentioned the night I went to dinner at Bill’s place, but now he must have caught wind of that little gathering.

‘This was the day we arrested McFaul. Am I right?’

‘You are.’

‘Did you regard that as a coincidence?’

‘Yes. Anything else never occurred to me. Bill phoned at the last moment. I thought I was there to make up the numbers.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘Christianne, obviously. They knew her far better than I did, but we all missed her.’

‘You assumed she was dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dead how?’

‘Drowned.’

‘Did anyone else at the table have views about that?’

For the first time, I hesitate. I have no idea what anyone else has said about what really happened round that table, but I’ve no intention of sharing Beth’s little fantasy about the ebb tide thundering past Exmouth Dock.

‘No comment,’ I say.

‘So, you did talk about how she might have died? Is that what I’m hearing?’

‘No comment.’

Bullivant is frowning now and, looking at his hands, I realize that he picks his fingers. The skin around the nails is reddened and angry.

‘So, what impression did you get of these people?’ he asks.

‘I thought they were fine. Very different but very interesting.’

‘Different how?’

‘Background? Age? I don’t know really. One was an ex-ambassador. Another was a carpenter. Beth runs a shop. Nathan used to be a QC.’

‘Precisely. And didn’t you wonder what brought them together that night? Round that table? Within hours of McFaul’s arrest?’

‘No, I didn’t. Should I have done?’