‘I believe your husband was actually arrested and charged in 1992, was he not? Accused of intent to harm after an incident in Oxford’s Randolph Hotel?’

‘For about an hour. All charges were dropped. It was a mistake.’

Leen looked at me and then she turned to the jury. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I would just like you to take into account that James Miller was a member of the notorious Society X, whose pranks ended in the tragic death of at least one member.’

‘Objection, Your Honour! This is inadmissible.’

‘For Christ’s sake!’

‘Mrs Miller, please!’

‘Well, honestly.’ I ignored John Huntingdon’s desperate gesticulating. ‘We were kids. Really. We were eighteen, nineteen. We thought we knew the world, but we didn’t, and we didn’t know any better. We were just trying to have fun, to be a little outrageous – and it went a bit wrong. It’s got nothing to do with this. Nothing. James doesn’t have any sort of criminal record.’

The judge banged her gavel down. ‘The jury will disregard the allegation just made by counsel for the prosecution.’ Like hell they would. ‘And Mrs Miller will refrain from using the stand as a soap-box.’

I gave her a sheepish look.

‘We’ll adjourn for lunch. And, Mr Huntingdon,’ the judge turned her gaze to the barrister, ‘I suggest you get the witness into line over a plate of something light.’

A titter rippled round the court. Huntingdon smiled a pained little smile.

‘You can’t let them rattle you, Rose.’ Ruth took me to task over a stale ham sandwich in the canteen. ‘You’ve got to appear calm and maternal and sensible. And you certainly can’t speak out of turn like that. It just makes you look hysterical.’

‘OK.’ I abandoned my unappealing lunch. ‘But it’s hard. They really do twist everything, don’t they?’

‘Of course. That’s their job. Now,’ she looked tired and for a moment, I thought, defeated, ‘is there anything about this Society X that I need to know?’

‘No. It was just a silly secret society at university that ended badly.’

‘Badly?’

‘Someone else got carried away with a silly ritual. The police got overexcited and charged James: it was dropped within two days.’

‘Are you sure? What’s the death thing?’

‘Lena Latzier overdosed,’ I said quietly.

‘The opera singer’s daughter? Bloody hell.’ Ruth drained her can of lemonade. ‘Anything else?’

‘Dalziel St John killed himself.’ My voice was smaller now. ‘Lord Higham’s son.’

‘Tell me you’re joking, please?’ Ruth stared at me. ‘Higham, as in the UKPP?’

‘Yes. Dalziel was the – the ring-leader, if you like. And some overzealous police got involved, and tried to make a case against some of us when he died. But honestly, the charges were dropped as quickly as they were brought.’