‘It probably does.’ Melissa lowers her voice, ‘He has done exactly the same to me for years, I’ve been raped more times than I can count. Last night was worse than usual.’

Grace’s hand squeezes hers tightly. DI Gordon assesses her with a narrowed gaze; she unzips the neck of her tracksuit top a few inches and his glance travels over the red stain on her neck and chest. The expression in his eyes grows opaque, judgements are being made behind them, impossible to guess at; her words wouldn’t stand up in a court of law but she sees she is believed.

‘How old is your maid?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Name?’

‘Lina.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s safe. We need to find Sorrel—’

‘That’s why we need to speak to Lina; if she’s been in contact, intimate contact, with your husband, it’s possible she might have vital information that could lead us to Sorrel.’

They’ll send a car to Salisbury, it will screech to a halt outside that ordinary-seeming house. Lina will be taken from her room, maybe sent back to Syria. Melissa stares back saying nothing, as the seconds beat past. No one moves until Grace does; she leans forward so her face is close to DI Gordon’s.

‘The person you need is Paul, surely. He raped Melly and Lina. Sorrel’s tiara was in his car; why bother Lina when you should be questioning Paul?’

DI Gordon doesn’t flinch but there is a flicker in his eyes as if he recognizes power.

‘Mr Chorley-Smith is being questioned at the station as we speak,’ he replies.

Phone calls must have been made immediately the tiara was found; the police would have approached Paul in the dining room at the golf club and led him away. The room must have buzzed with gossip behind his departing back.

DI Gordon signals to the young policewoman who has been standing inside the door; she moves forward. ‘Please could you wait outside now?’ she asks Grace politely.

Grace’s warm hand rests briefly on Melissa’s shoulder; Melissa watches as Grace takes Eve’s arm and then her friends leave the room, followed by the young policewoman.

Melissa is left alone with DI Gordon who walks around the island and sits down near her, whether to intimidate or calm her is impossible to judge. He gestures to the gleaming kitchen. ‘All new?’

‘Paul keeps it updated.’ She nods, confused by the change in his line of questioning. ‘He brings his clients here, it’s a showroom of sorts.’ Though he hasn’t brought anyone here recently; in fact she can’t remember the last time he did.

‘And everything he doesn’t want gets thrown away, I suppose?’

Rubbish to be discarded for newer models, as she so often was, is that what he means?

‘It’s all stored,’ she says evenly. ‘To be sold on.’

‘He was an architect. Am I correct?’