He put his arm round her shoulder. ‘Today went well, April. Caro would be proud of you.’

Tears welled in her eyes. ‘She’d be proud of you too. She always was.’ She thumbed the tears away and gave him a stern look. ‘You’re not going to mope while Kate’s away, are you?’

‘Of course not.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.’

Indeed he did. But early the following morning, however, as he was brewing his first coffee of the day, things took an unexpected turn. The phone rang. When he answered, he heard Caldwell’s distinctively soft voice on the other end of the line. Though there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there on Friday. He sounded either nervous or excited, or both. Nick had given him his mobile number, but it seemed he preferred to use the landline.

‘This is Martin Caldwell, Nick. Are you … alone?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I mean … are you free to talk?’

‘Just go ahead, Martin. What’s the problem?’

‘I’m not going to be able to keep our … appointment … this afternoon.’

‘You aren’t?’

‘I’m terribly sorry.’

So was Nick, to his surprise. ‘That’s a pity.’

‘Could we postpone it … by twenty-four hours?’

‘I, er, don’t see why not.’

‘Something’s come up … that complicates my travel plans.’

What might that be, Nick asked himself, in the reputedly empty life of Martin Caldwell? ‘OK. So, tomorrow afternoon, then?’

‘Yes. That … should be all right.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m really sorry … to mess you around.’

‘Never mind. By the way, I’ve remembered since we last spoke that you told me at the funeral you still live in the house you shared as a student with Caro and April and … my father.’

‘Not still. There was a gap of quite a few years … before I moved back in again. And … it had changed a lot.’

‘I guess it would have.’

‘We could arrange for you to see it … if you wanted. It might help you … get a clearer picture.’

‘A clearer picture of what?’

‘Did Caro ever talk about the other people who lived there?’

‘Not much. There was Miranda Cushing, of course.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of Miranda.’

‘Who, then?’

‘Peter Ellery and Alison Parker. Have their names ever cropped up?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘No. Neither do I.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t … say any more right now. I’ll, er … see you tomorrow. Say … five o’clock. Yes?’

‘I’ll be here.’

‘It’s, er … possible I might be … a little late. But, er … Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Is there something wrong, Martin?’

Long pause. Then: ‘I’ll explain everything … when we meet.’

And that was it. He’d hung up.