‘It’s mango lassi, would you like one? Yoghurt, honey, fruit, ice and water. We can do it with sugar or salt.’

Gillard went for the salt version and Claire the sweet.

‘I’d like to see where Mrs Roy worked,’ Gillard said. ‘Did she have her own office?’

‘She moved around a lot,’ Morag said, leading them into another office. ‘So her office pretty much moved with her wherever she was. But when she was here in Slough this is where she sat. Philippa Boswell, her PA, sits opposite, here.’ The desks were identical, untidy, with basic office furniture. It was only the photographs of Mrs Roy’s children which distinguished where she sat in the open-plan set-up. It certainly didn’t look like the office of a multi-millionaire businesswoman.

‘So the PA sat in the room with her?’ Claire asked. ‘What about confidential discussions?’

Morag smiled. ‘We never hired a PA who could speak Gujarati.’

‘And where is Mrs Boswell today?’ she asked.

‘I’ve given her a day’s compassionate leave. She was quite upset.’

‘We will need to interview her,’ Gillard said, taking down the woman’s details.

Morag guided them into a meeting room.

‘I understand that you are also the human resources manager?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you aware of any threats, incidents, sackings or confrontations within the company which might have led to someone attacking Mrs Roy?’

She nodded, and opened a box file in front of her. ‘After your email, I looked through all of the dismissals we have had in the last three years. I have to say there have been scores amongst the temporary staff, principally those who work in the packing hall. The work is fairly casual, and we use an agency. I can’t say there have never been angry scenes, but I think if any of them were upset, it would more likely to be with me. I do the firing.’

‘What about more senior staff?’

‘Mrs Roy got through a few PAs over the years. But Philippa has been with us for fifteen months. We have had two industrial tribunal cases, both of which were settled. They are of course subject to confidentiality agreements.’ She moved the box file to her left, away from the detectives.

‘We’ll need to see those,’ Gillard said, pointing at the box.

‘I’ll have to get Harry’s permission,’ she said. ‘He’s on compassionate leave today too, so I’ll not disturb him.’

‘You don’t need to get his permission, you can simply say that the police insisted.’

Morag locked gazes with Gillard, her jaw set. Finally she shrugged and slid the box across in front of her.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the lassi, which was as delicious as they had hoped. Morag left them for a moment to make some phone calls.

‘Sounds like she has a point,’ Claire said. ‘Mrs Roy sounds too remote from day-to-day staff management to be the target of a disgruntled employee.’

‘Maybe,’ Gillard responded. He started flicking through an Indian celebrity magazine, which had a sticky note referring to page seventy-three. There he saw a photograph of Harry looking very dapper in a white dinner jacket and lime green bow tie. He was grinning like a loon, as well he might, as he was standing with a dark-haired beauty identified in the caption as Bollywood influencer and health campaigner, Sonali Desai. In another picture, Harry emerged from a taxi with another glamorous woman. There was a breathless caption beneath: ‘This dashing fellow is the heir to a 1,000 crore rupee fortune, and quite the most eligible Gujarati businessman in town. His name has been linked to both Zareena Kapoor (above), and Anushka Singh, but has recently been seen in the company of Sonali Desai. The question is, which lucky lady will finally nab him?’