“So, your theory is that I helped Dudley kill his wife because I was madly in love with him,” she said coldly. “And that Johnny knew something to incriminate us so we dealt with him too?”

“I didn’t say that,” Arthur said, “but even if it’s true that you don’t love Dudley in that way you have always cared about him. You said so yourself. You might misguidedly try to help or protect him.”

Lizzie absorbed this. She didn’t want to admit it, but Arthur’s words did make sense. The thought that he would ever believe her complicit in such a crime was hard to hear but she could see that from his point of view she couldn’t be trusted. If she was going to convince him she would need to be completely honest about everything that had happened with Johnny and even then, there would be no guarantee he would accept it.

“Well,” she said, on another sigh, “trust me far enough to let me make you that coffee and then we can talk about Johnny and you can judge for yourself.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said. He gave her a tired smile. “And thank you for seeing my point of view.”

Their eyes met and for a moment Lizzie thought he was going to say something else, something about the affinity they shared, but the moment passed.

“What a nice flat,” Arthur said as he followed her into the kitchen. “I was expecting—” He stopped.

“You were expecting marble floors and gold leaf,” Lizzie finished for him. “Each to their own, although bling isn’t really my thing.” The tension inside her eased a little at his evident embarrassment. There was something so self-contained, so controlled about Arthur that it was actually a relief to discover that he was as prone to a gaffe as the next person. But perhaps he was nervous too. It was such an odd situation they found themselves in.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “That was rude of me.”

Lizzie smiled. “You made assumptions. People do.” She took a deep breath. “Look, shall we try and start again—with as few prejudices as we can manage?”

Arthur’s answering smile made her heart miss a beat. “That would probably be for the best,” he said.

“Do sit down.” Lizzie gestured him to the chair by the window where Johnny had sat the night before. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Strong, please.” She could feel Arthur watching her as she filled the cafetière. She felt strangely self-conscious. Arthur felt simultaneously like a stranger and someone she knew very well. It was beyond disconcerting.

“Where did you leave your car?” she asked. “The parking’s non-existent around here.”

“I left it outside,” Arthur said. He smiled faintly. “The guy from the private parking company promised to keep an eye on it for me. I don’t think he’d seen a car like mine before.”

“It takes a lot to impress them round here,” Lizzie said. “What do you drive?”