‘You don’t owe him anything, Verity. Jack was a liar and a bloody traitor. The police should see what’s in there. Give it to me and we can take it to them.’ He was snarling now, the anger barely suppressed.

‘The police?’ she said, with a mad laugh. ‘The police are on their way, Arthur. They know you’re here. They know… they know what you did.’ It was a wild stab.

‘Don’t be stupid, Ver, no one knows either of us are here,’ he said, but his voice had a tear in it that let in doubt.

Peter – she thought – Peter does. But Peter had never been here.

‘What did you do to him?’

Silence apart from the sound of the wind in the reeds. Then he spoke. ‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. We had an argument. I don’t remember—’ She was aware of a humming sound in her head getting stronger. Then he said, ‘Listen, Ver, don’t get the wrong idea but look, I’ve got a gun.’

The humming sound burst. A kind of strangled noise came from her mouth. This wasn’t her Arthur.

‘I’m not going to use it, of course I’m not, but I’m telling you because you need to give me the briefcase. Give it to me. Please, Verity. It’s only right that the public finds out what he’s been doing.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? He’s dead.’

‘Because it’s not what you think it is. There’s nothing important in here. Only to me.’

‘You’re lying,’ he said. ‘This is in the public interest. They’ve been spying on Russia without anyone knowing; they’ve been carrying atomic bombs and endangering us all. What if there was an accident at the base? What then? It affects all of us. We can’t just let them all get away with it.’ He sounded excited, as if he’d forgotten she was there.

‘I’m not lying,’ she said, bewildered.

‘Ver – enough. Stop protecting him. I’ve not even told you the worst of it. I saw him handing something over – when we were in Norwich – he was a spy, Ver. A dirty, bloody spy.’

An exhalation came from her mouth, but nothing articulate. It couldn’t be true.

He carried on. ‘He gave a metal box to a man in Norwich. I think – I think he was selling something to them.’

She breathed out. It would have been the film pack of negatives from his camera. It would have been the naked photographs. She wanted to say, He wasn’t a spy, Arthur, he was just a… But she couldn’t say what he was.

‘You’ve got it all wrong, Arthur,’ she said, but he wasn’t listening.