Judith went over to her sideboard and poured herself a dash of whisky. An evening glass of whisky was a ritual Judith had picked up from her great aunt Betty when she’d first moved into the house to nurse her through her ill health. That’s how her great aunt would usher in every evening, with a splash of Scotch in a heavy cut-glass tumbler. It was medicinal, she’d say, going further and explaining that she’d never had a cold since she’d started taking a glass of whisky each evening. After Betty had died, Judith felt it only good manners to pour herself a small glass of Scotch each night. To honour her aunt. And anyway, what could be so bad about gently sipping barely an inch of something so organic and natural as Scotch?

As Judith took her first warming sip, she decided on a plan of action. She needed to talk to this woman who knew Mr Kassam.

Judith downed the rest of the whisky in one.

And poured herself another. It helped her think.

The following morning, Judith made herself a thermos of strong tea and some beetroot sandwiches that she wrapped in brown paper, then went for a walk along the Thames. The sun was already high in the sky, and she couldn’t help but feel uplifted. On her side of the river, cows cropped idly at the grass, and on the other, the land swept upwards to Winter Hill, a thickly wooded ridge that ran all the way between Marlow and the pretty village of Cookham. What Judith loved most about this particular walk was how there was always activity on the river. Whether it was a local school’s rowing eight scything at thrilling speed through the water; or a self-regarding older gent driving his motor launch like it was a Volvo estate; or maybe a feathery clutch of cygnets following their mummy in a line on the water.

The pathway was similarly busy, with teenagers splashing in little coves that had been created by the cows’ nightly trips down to the river to drink; families on bicycle rides, everyone wearing sensible safety helmets; and every field always had its share of people letting their dogs off the lead so they could run wild.

Judith had a favourite spot in the shade of a weeping willow, so she swished off her cape, laid it down and sat on it to wait with her tea and sandwiches. She’d not brought a book, or indeed any of her crossword work to be getting on with, as she knew she’d be busy enough taking in the scene. Within a few minutes, her focus had drifted until all she was aware of was the ticking of a grasshopper nearby, and the sun warming her body, seemingly right down to her bones. It was bliss.