I see Simon every day at work, but we give each other a wide berth. Neither of us is comfortable with the idea of the ‘office romance’. The morning after we spent our first night together, after several weeks of dating, we entered the building separately and communicated only by email. Since then, we’ve seen each other outside work maybe four times a week, and slept together on half of those occasions, either at his place or mine. Neither of us has said anything about moving in together, or the future, or ‘us’, but there are plans for a long weekend in Scotland next month. Sometimes we go out to bars and clubs, but he dislikes the noise and I’m not crazy about the ghosts, so it tends to be meals, cinema, he’s even dragged me to the theatre. On my bachelor nights, I read or work or watch TV, or I go out with Jonathan, who still officially doesn’t like Simon but has at least stopped constantly telling me why.

And I see Stephen. After I read the first few diaries, I find his number and I call him.

‘That got your attention, then.’

‘Would you like to come over for dinner?’

‘Oh, and what would that be then? Brown rice on a bed of lettuce? No thanks.’

‘My boyfriend will cook. He’s a very good cook.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it, dear. Boyfriend indeed.’ He sounds pleased. ‘Whatever next?’

Stephen arrives at six o’clock on a Saturday evening, dressed in his best, his hair bigger than ever, a crisp white shirt and a burgundy silk cravat. I greet him at the door with a hug and a kiss on both cheeks, which he receives like a potentate receiving homage. Simon is busy in the kitchen, and so we sit in the living room with drinks.

‘So what happened?’ Michael’s diaries are tormentingly silent for a year, after the crisis of the murder. ‘Was Mervyn convicted?’

‘No.’

‘Thank God.’

‘I was.’

My mouth hangs open.

‘Mmm, hard to imagine, isn’t it? Little old me, breaking rocks in the hot sun. I fought Lily Law, dear, and Lily Law won.’

‘But you didn’t … you hadn’t …’

‘I didn’t kill the old bastard, if that’s what you’re driving at, no. But as I told Michael, there had to be a scapegoat, and in the end it came down to the lesser of two evils.’

Dinner won’t be ready for another hour. Simon nips in and out with drinks and nibbles.

‘To put it crudely, I did a deal. I went to the police and I told them that I knew who killed Gerald, and that if they didn’t release Mervyn Wright I would go to the papers with my little orange book. There was enough in there to end a few distinguished police careers and quite possibly topple the government as well. In a way, I rather regret not doing it. I could have been the Mandy Rice-Davies of the queer set. But the police were very keen to buy my silence, and so they agreed to drop the murder charge against Mervyn.