Stuart thought; it was difficult to list the arguments that Irene had had with various people. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was mostly over smallish things – small ideological things.’

‘Is there anybody who would stand to gain from her disappearance?’

Again Stuart answered quickly, without thinking. ‘I would.’

The policeman looked at him. There was something troubling about his gaze; it was a look of scepticism, Stuart decided. That was understandable enough; he must have to deal with all softs of meretricious behaviour.

‘Could you tell me where you were at the time that she went missing?’ The voice was low, almost as if inviting a confidence.

‘I was at work … And I’ve got twelve people to prove it.’

The officer raised a hand in a calming gesture. ‘That’s fine. I have to exclude you – that’s all.’

‘Well, I resent the implication.’

‘I’m sorry about that. But I had to ask. And, look, I know how you must feel. And I wish I could allay your fears, but frankly I’m very worried that something very unfortunate indeed has happened to your wife. I’m so sorry. I really am.’

59. Regret on Corstorphine Road

Domenica missed much of the drama surrounding Irene’s disappearance. This was because Irene disappeared on a Friday and it was on the Saturday that she, Antonia and Angus left Edinburgh for Italy, accompanied, of course, by Cyril.

‘I feel a bit guilty leaving at such a time as this,’ she remarked in the taxi.

‘I can’t say I do,’ said Antonia. ‘It makes absolutely no difference whether or not we, as neighbours, are there. What can we do?’

Domenica looked at her reproachfully. ‘We could offer support.’

‘I did that,’ said Antonia. ‘As no doubt you did too. But beyond that, I really can’t see what we can do. Stuart seems to be coping remarkably well.’

Angus shook his head sympathetically. ‘Poor man. I can just imagine how he feels.’

All three were silent; all knew the extent to which Stuart was dominated by his wife.

It was Domenica who spoke first. ‘I can’t say that I ever struck up a rapport with her,’ she said.

‘Nor can I,’ said Antonia quickly.

‘Cyril bit her once,’ observed Angus. ‘He couldn’t stand her, I’m afraid. Remember that, Cyril?’

They all looked down at the dog, who returned their stares with a friendly look, the sun glinting off his gold tooth. Then he winked at Antonia.

‘No doubt she’ll turn up,’ said Domenica. ‘She was probably depressed, or something like that, and decided to kick off the shackles and go away for a while. People do that in that state of mind.’

‘That must be it,’ said Angus.

Antonia was less sanguine. ‘Or she was abducted,’ she said. ‘You’d be surprised at the figures. An extraordinary number of people are actually abducted and kept somewhere against their will.’