“I know,” said Lindsay. “I lost someone I loved once. You feel like part of you has been amputated. And nothing anyone says makes the slightest difference.”

Cordelia cleared her throat. “Well, thanks for your help. We’d better be off now. I’m sorry if we’ve upset you.”

He saw them to the door. His parting words as they climbed the shallow steps up from his basement entrance were, “Thanks, I wish you could have known her as I did.”

They got back into the car. Lindsay had found the interview extremely painful. The man’s grief had taken her back three years to the death of her lover. It was an experience she thought she had learned how to handle. But now she felt again the vivid pain that had filled her life for months after Frances’ death had devastated her world.

“At least one person grieves for her,” said Cordelia. “I can’t decide whether she did a magnificent con job on him or whether he genuinely saw a side to Lorna that was hidden from the rest of us.”

“Who’s to say?” Lindsay replied. “Either way, it’s not going to affect his memories. Unfortunately, however, I don’t think our little chat has taken us any further forward. If anything, it only widens the field to the entire readership of the Daily Argus. Still, it was edifying to find out what Lorna apparently thought of Dominic Bennett and Anthony Barrington. Now, how do I get to your place?”

Under Cordelia’s careful guidance, Lindsay drove them to a quiet cul-de-sac of tall Victorian terraced houses overlooking Highbury Fields. Feeling somewhat overawed by the fact that Cordelia’s home was obviously one of the few three-story houses that was not converted into flats, Lindsay followed Cordelia up the steps to the door. Cordelia caught sight of Lindsay’s expression and grinned.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s not as grand as it looks. My accountant told me that property was the best investment, so I lashed out on this with the proceeds of my early successes in the mass media.”

They stepped into the narrow hall. Cordelia flicked on the subdued lighting that revealed watercolor sketches of Italian landscapes. “In here,” she said, opening one of the doors leading off the hall. Lindsay stepped through into an L-shaped living-room that was twice the size of her own in Glasgow. Four wooden-shuttered windows stretched from ceiling to floor. There was an enormous gray leather Chesterfield on one side of the fireplace and two matching wing chairs on the other side. On the polished wooden floor a couple of good Oriental rugs provided the only splashes of color. Round the corner was the dining area, furnished with an oval mahogany dining-table and six matching balloon-backed chairs.

“My God,” said Lindsay. “It’s like living in a page out of House and Garden.”