‘Mrs Buck,’ I said. ‘Please try to concentrate on me for the next little while.’

She took a final look at her phone and turned it off, her face tight with anger.

‘Do you really think I wanted my husband dead?’ she said. ‘You stupid little man!’

I took a breath.

‘Officers were called to this address three days before he died.’

‘That? A lover’s tiff.’

‘You made threats on your husband’s life.’

‘What do you expect me to say when I find the help blowing him? You say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment.’

‘You FedExed your bed to his office.’

‘I wanted to embarrass him. I wanted to humiliate him. I wanted him to know what it feels like.’

‘And then someone cut his throat.’

She exhaled as she poured out coffee.

‘I can see it looks bad. Sugar? Milk?’

‘Black, please.’

‘I didn’t want him to die. I just wanted him to stop. To stop . . . what’s the nice way of saying it? Sleeping around.’

It was good coffee.

‘Did your husband have many friends?’

‘You know what the English are like. Or at least that kind of upper-class Englishman. Hugo came from a family where they let their dogs get in their beds and send their children to kennels. He was shipped off to boarding school at the age of seven, made friends there and kept them for ever. He didn’t have much use for the rest of the world. Including his wife.’

I thought about the photograph on his desk.

‘Where did he go to school?’

‘Trinity College Cambridge. Prince Charles went there.’

She was smiling with wistful pride.

‘Before that,’ I said.

‘Potter’s Field,’ she said. ‘His father went there. And his grandfather. Hugo called it the Eton for athletes, musicians and thugs. He meant it as a compliment.’

‘Which one was he?’

‘An athlete. My husband was good at games, detective.’

‘Did he enjoy his years at Potter’s Field?’

‘Sadistic masters. Stodgy food. Cold showers. That constant obsession with sport. Casual bullying. A lot of homosexual sex. He always said they were the best days of his life.’

‘Did your husband have lovers?’

She snorted.

‘Apart from your housekeeper,’ I said.

‘Plenty.’

‘And did the lovers have husbands?’

‘Some of them. You think a jealous husband might have killed him? Possible, I suppose. But Hugo was fond of the help. He stayed away from my friends, I’ll give him that. Although I don’t think he did it out of any sense of morality. He just preferred his entertainment below stairs.’

‘I’ll need the name and contact details of the housekeeper. You told my colleagues you didn’t have them.’

The anger flared. ‘Because the bitch caught a plane back to Kiev. I told them. Do I have to say everything twice?’

‘Did he fall out with any business partners? Did he receive any threatening phone calls, emails, letters?’