After her early experience of life without real love, she would thrive on the abundance of it, overflowing from her husband and from his family.

Especially his family.

As she looked around her at the smiling faces of the younger children, at the fond glances from his parents, and at the big handsome man she had somehow managed to capture, Donna Fenland felt as if, after a long and painful journey, she had finally and irrevocably come home.

‘I’m sorry, but I think you must have made a very serious mistake.’

Donna’s voice was high and breathless, her face a white strained mask that made even the most hardened of the policemen present feel a tinge of pity for her.

Donna heard Bunty’s refined tones and closed her eyes in consternation.

‘Do you know who my husband is?’ It was more of a shocked statement than a question, and even in her own distress, Donna felt a moment’s smugness that Bunty wasn’t getting it all her own way. The other dinner guests had left as soon as possible; only Bunty and Harry had stayed on.

‘We’re quite well aware of your husband’s standing in the community, madam. We would advise you that we have a warrant to search these premises and that is what we intend to do.’

Harry stormed into the lounge, his face grey-tinged, the alcohol he’d consumed lying heavily on his fat stomach. ‘Come along, Bunty, there’s no more we can do here. I would advise you, Donna, to get your husband a solicitor as soon as possible. Bunty, shut your mouth and let’s get home.’

She stared wide-eyed at her husband. ‘But surely . . . surely there’s been some mistake? I mean . . .’

‘Get your coat, dear, we’re leaving. I’ve been on the phone to the Chief Super and he informs me there is no mistake at all. Now can we please leave?’ His eyes warned against any further objection and Bunty, having always prided herself on being quick on the uptake, moved silently from the room.

In the hallway, Harry helped his wife on with her wrap. As he picked up the keys to his BMW a voice said hoarsely, ‘Going to call a cab for him, missus? I don’t think the local magistrate would be happy being stopped for drunk driving.’

Bunty and Harry both looked at Frank Laughton. Replacing the keys in his pocket, Harry picked up the phone, a red tinge flooding his face as he dialled the number.

Laughton walked nonchalantly past them, a smile on his face. Going into the lounge, he shut the door noisily in Bunty’s face.