“There’s a flip side to that.”

She lit a cigarette and smiled a little nervously. “Oh, you needn’t worry about me, Walter. I come from a family of Lloyd’s insurance brokers. Who are all notoriously sane. And there are very few opportunities for going crazy in Èze.”

“Unless you’re Nietzsche.”

“Did he go insane? I don’t actually know much about Nietzsche.”

“He was mad but not noticeably. At least not in Germany.” I glanced around the room again. “Anyway, it’s a lovely home you have. Living up here must be like heaven. It’s close enough, after all.”

“Have you been here before, Walter? I can’t remember.”

“Once. With Antimo. To play bridge when the Voile had closed for the summer. We lost.”

“Poor Antimo,” she said. “That was awful what happened to him. The police were here, of course. Asking their questions. Did we know anyone who might have had a grudge against him? As if. They asked a lot of questions about you. Yes, they seemed quite interested in you. But Antimo was such a dear, sweet man. I shall miss him enormously.”

“Me, too.”

“Do they have any idea who did it, yet?”

“No,” I said. “Not a clue. But I do.”

“Really? You surprise me. Who?”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. It was you who shot him, Julia.”

“Me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not ridiculous. You were having an affair with him and you’d threatened to put a hole in yourself when he gave you the cold cut. Spinola took your gun—or at least a gun—away from you to stop you from doing it. I still have that gun at home somewhere. I guess he never figured you might own more than one firearm. Or that you might just shoot him instead of yourself.” I sipped my drink. “This is a good martini, Julia. You’re quite a cocktail barman.”

“From the sound of things you’ve had quite enough to drink already, Walter. I don’t know. What you said—it’s rather offensive. I think you’ve outstayed your welcome. Perhaps you should go now.”

I said nothing.

“Or do I have to call the police?”

“Yes, let’s call them, if you like.”

Now it was Julia who stayed quiet.