“Oh, we wanted to be better musicians,” said James.

“We’re wannabe jazzmen,” said Max. “You play the music to play the music, know what I mean?”

I nodded.

“Do you think he’s gone across the river for those drinks?” asked James.

We craned our necks and looked over at the bar. Daniel was bobbing among the crush, his hand raised with an optimistic twenty slipped between his fingers. On Saturday night in Soho going across the river might have been quicker.

“How serious was Cyrus?” I asked.

“He wasn’t any more serious than we were,” said James.

“He was good, though,” said Max and made fingering motions. “He had that whole sax-player thing going.”

“Hence the women,” said James.

Max sighed.

“Melinda Abbot?” I asked.

“Oh, Melinda,” said Max.

“Melinda was just the one at home,” said James.

“Sally, Viv, Tolene,” said Max.

“Daria,” said James. “Remember Daria?”

“Like I said,” said Max. “The whole saxophone vibe.”

I spotted Daniel struggling back with the drinks and got up to help him ferry them to the table. He gave me an appraising look and I guessed that he didn’t share Max’s and James’s envy for the women. I gave him a politically correct grin and plonked the drinks down on the table. Max and James said cheers and we all clinked glasses.

They’d obviously forgotten that I was a policeman, which was handy, so I phrased my next question with considerable care. “So Melinda didn’t mind?”

“Oh, Melinda minded all right,” said James. “But it didn’t help that she never came to any of the gigs.”

“She wasn’t a fan,” said Daniel.

“You know how it is with women,” said James. “They don’t like you to be doing anything they can’t relate back to themselves.”

“She was into that New Age stuff, crystals and homeopathy,” said Max.

“She was always nice enough to us,” said Daniel. “Made us coffee when we were rehearsing.”

“And biscuits,” said Max nostalgically.

“None of the other girls was serious,” said James. “I’m not even sure there was ever any hanky-panky as such. At least not until Simone anyway. Trouble with a capital T.”

Simone had been the first woman to come back to Cyrus’s house to watch the rehearsals.

“She was so quiet that after a while you forgot she was there,” said Daniel.

Melinda Abbot didn’t forget Simone Fitzwilliam was there and I didn’t blame her. I tried to imagine what would have happened had my dad brought a woman home to watch him rehearse. It wouldn’t have ended well I can tell you that. Tears would have just been the start of it.

Melinda, who obviously subscribed to notions of gentility unknown to my mother, did at least wait until everyone left the house before metaphorically rolling up her sleeves and reaching for the rolling pin.