But Kitty had begun to tell her. ‘It’s each for himself in their world,’ she said, ‘just the same as in anybody else’s. If George Lacklander dreams he can make a monkey out of me he’s going to wake up in a place where he won’t have any more funny ideas. What about the old family name then! Look! Do you know what he gets me to do? Break open Maurice’s desk because there’s something Maurie was going to make public about old Lacklander and George wants to get in first. And when it isn’t there he asks me to find out if it was on the body. Me! And when I won’t take that one on, what does he say?’

‘I don’t know. Don’t tell me!’

‘Oh, yes, I will. You listen to this and see how you like it. After all the fun and games! Teaching me how to swing …’ She made a curious little retching sound in her throat and looked at Nurse Kettle with a kind of astonishment. ‘You know,’ she said. ‘Golf. Well, so what does he do? He says, this morning, when he comes to the car with me, he says he thinks it will be better if we don’t see much of each other.’ She suddenly flung out a string of adjectives that Nurse Kettle would have considered unprintable. ‘That’s George Lacklander for you,’ Kitty Cartarette said.

‘You’re a wicked woman,’ Nurse Kettle said. ‘I forbid you to talk like this. Sir George may have been silly and infatuated. I dare say you’ve got what it takes, as they say, and he’s a widower and I always say there’s a trying time for gentlemen just as there is – but that’s by the way. What I mean: if he’s been silly it’s you that’s led him on,’ Nurse Kettle said, falling back on the inexorable precepts of her kind. ‘You caught our dear Colonel and not content with that, you set your cap at poor Sir George. You don’t mind who you upset or how unhappy you make other people. I know your sort. You’re no good. You’re no good at all. I shouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t responsible for what’s happened. Not a scrap surprised.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Kitty whispered. She curled back in her chair and staring at Nurse Kettle she said: ‘You with your poor Sir George! Do you know what I think about your poor Sir George? I think he murdered your poor dear Colonel, Miss Kettle.’

Nurse Kettle sprang to her feet. The wrought-iron chair rocked against the table. There was a clatter of china and a jug of milk overturned into Kitty Cartarette’s lap.