‘A bit. And if I have my way, I’ll be drunker.’

He took her arm and helped her across the hall and up the stairs.

‘Where are we going?’ Her voice had taken on an aggressive tone.

‘I’m going to put you in the shower, my girl. Now get up them stairs.’

Willy walked out into the hall and Kelly snapped at him, ‘She’s pissed. Pay the cab, then get her some coffee.’

Willy nodded and watched Patrick half carry and half drag a drunken Kate up the stairs.

In the bedroom, he let her flop on to the bed and began to pull her clothes off. She was compliant now. The aggression had turned to a weary resignation.

‘We thought we had him, Pat, but we didn’t. We didn’t . . . All we had was another murderer. He’d murdered his wife . . .’

‘All right, all right, calm down.’

He hoisted her naked off the bed and walked her into the en-suite bathroom. Turning on the cold tap, he held her under the shower. The freezing water made her gasp for breath and she tried to leap out of the shower tray. Patrick held her in there with difficulty, the white silk shirt he was wearing getting soaked.

‘Let the water run over you, Kate, it’ll make you feel better.’

‘You bloody bastard! Let me out of this shower now! It’s fr-fr-freezing.’

Kelly watched the goose bumps appearing all over her skin as if by magic and stifled a grin. Her nipples were enormous!

He was still holding her under the flowing water when, about five minutes later, he heard Willy bring the coffee into the bedroom. Turning off the shower, Patrick wrapped her in a large bath towel.

‘Come on then, into the bedroom.’

‘Flowers told me off good and proper today. Not Kenneth Caitlin, though. Oh, no. Only me.’

He poured out a strong coffee, but when he took it over to the bed she was already asleep.

Her long hair was plastered across her body. Droplets of water made her skin look pearly. The bath towel barely covered her. Never had she looked so vulnerable or so desirable. For a fleeting second, looking down at her, he was sorry for what he had done. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that George Markham was her man. But he could never tell her.

There was something he could do, though, and that was put Frederick Flowers in his place. The thought consoled him for a while.

Kate finally opened her eyes three hours later. She looked around her, trying to get her bearings. Then she saw Patrick.

‘Hello, love, feeling better?’

She pulled herself up on the bed.

‘I feel rough actually.’

‘I’ll ring down for some fresh coffee.’