The orange marmalade glistened on the toast. She could taste bile in her throat and she thought she was going to be sick.

Peter spoke again. ‘What did Arthur say about where he left Jack?’

‘You keep saying the same thing. I have no idea,’ she said.

‘I can’t get over how we saw him at the dance—’ Peter stopped and looked down at his hands. ‘Ver, listen, I know you and he had… were…’

Tears fell onto her plate, soaked into the marmalade. She was not just crying for him but for all he meant. No one would ever know that they had loved each other. And the dreams he’d spun and that she’d almost believed had vanished. No one would ever know that they had ever even existed.

She heard Peter’s chair scrape and she tensed, sniffed, waiting for the unwanted contact. Peter was standing awkwardly at the table. ‘He was your friend as well,’ she said. He sat down again as if all the air had come out of him.

He coughed. ‘I suppose the Air Force will find out what happened,’ he said, and opened the newspaper, rustling it loudly. ‘Our new queen is coming to Norfolk,’ he read. Then he added, ‘Eisenhower’s turned down the Rosenbergs’ appeal against the death penalty. Nasty business.’

Verity didn’t answer. She thought about the briefcase she’d found in the marsh shack, the pill in the ampoule, Jack’s frequent disappearance. All the evasions and shadows.

They both looked up when the front doorbell rang through the hallway and Mrs Timms came clattering out of the kitchen, puffing, ‘I’m coming. Hold your horses,’ as the bell rang again.

‘It’ll be Arthur,’ Peter said, ‘I asked him to come. He’s bound to want to talk it over.’ Something wary and hesitant passed between them wordlessly.

The room changed when he came in. They were stiff, bristling. He stood half illuminated in the pale light of the east window and he seemed defiant, uncomfortable, as if he didn’t want to be there. She hadn’t really looked at him the day they found Jack, and now she saw that his eyes were sunken in his head, with grey smudges in the hollows. But then he smiled at her and, although it was an awkward smile, there were plenty of reasons for that and she tried to return it.

‘How’ve you been, old boy?’ Peter asked, standing up and ushering Arthur into the room. He called for more tea and toast for Arthur, and Mrs Timms went off to get it, grumbling. ‘Have the police spoken to you about Jack?’

‘No,’ said Arthur, ‘why would they?’

‘Because you helped them find the body and you told them you’d seen him!’ Verity blurted out.