She stood aside, and he walked ahead of her into the stuffy sitting room. Dennis Franks sat in one of the large soft armchairs. He, too, looked exhausted, but he seemed sustained by a vague and undirected anger. When George came in, he stood up.

“You’ve got a nerve,” he said, “ coming here after what’s happened.”

“I thought you might like to talk to me,” George said. “ I was on the boat when Greg died.”

“They won’t bloody tell me what happened,” Franks said with helpless fury. “They say there were suspicious circumstances. I don’t know what that means.”

He turned towards George in a threatening way, his chin thrust forward, hoping perhaps for an excuse for the relief of violence but not quite able to see it through. When he spoke again, it was with a confused desperation.

“What have you done?” he demanded. “ You went to Cornwall to send my son home, and now he’s dead.”

Muriel Franks, who had followed George into the room and was sitting, crumpled, on a corner of the sofa, began to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” George said, but he knew the words were inadequate, and his sympathy only seemed to refuel Franks’ anger.

“What did you say to him?” the man cried. “Did you frighten him into jumping from the boat?” Then, because of his lack of control over his wife’s tears illustrated his lack of control in the whole unbelievable situation he added, “Have you seen what this is doing to Muriel?”

George was becoming angry himself, with the police who seemed to have left the couple without any real information, with all their questions unanswered.

“Didn’t the police tell you that they believe Greg was murdered?” George said.

“I’ve told you!” Franks cried. “ They wouldn’t bloody tell me anything. I want to know!”

Muriel Franks looked up, bewildered and unhappy, startled by the noise of his voice, and her words were so inappropriate and irrational that the two men stared at her for a moment in silence. “He was such a good little swimmer when he was a boy,” she said. “I told the police that.”

At last Franks sat beside her. “Why don’t you go and lie down?” he said gently. “You must be tired.”

But she shook her head and remained where she was.

“I’m afraid the swimming wouldn’t have helped,” George said. He felt Muriel deserved an explanation. “ The police think he must have been unconscious when he reached the water.”

“How!” Franks demanded.

“There’s a head wound,” George said, “which can’t be explained by Greg’s falling.”

“Are you telling me that someone hit our lad on the head and no one stopped him? What the hell were you all doing?”