Inside the car was warm and dry. Mr deVillars was dapper in fawn trousers, a navy-blue blazer and a cravat. His white hair was oiled, his nails clipped. His skin, always slightly inclined towards rosacea, was pink against the white of his hair. He smelled of citrus and sandalwood and looked like an old-fashioned movie star. He was exactly as he’d always been.

The old man pressed a button that locked the doors and then pulled the car away, the wipers swishing smooth as a heartbeat; the engine purring. There was hardly any sense of movement as they headed, slowly, along the road.

Will thought he’d better take the initiative. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you or Mrs deVillars.’

‘We’re all a bit out of sorts,’ said Mr deVillars. ‘These are unprecedented times.’

‘Yes.’

Will stared ahead, through the windscreen. He could not think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t be weighted; not a single question he could ask.

The wipers smeared the raindrops across the glass. Will glanced at Mr deVillars. The old man was looking at the road. There was something of steel in his expression.

‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind,’ Will said, ‘it’s really kind of you, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather walk after all. I could do with the air.’

Either Mr deVillars didn’t hear, or he chose to ignore this.

‘This situation is difficult for all of us,’ he said. ‘Especially my poor Camille. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, but she senses the tension. It’s not good for her.’

‘I’m sure it’s not. Would you stop the car, Mr deVillars?’

‘Funny thing happened this morning, Will. A journalist called. She was asking questions about Guy. Accusations have been made, apparently. She wouldn’t reveal her source, but Guy says you and she were once a couple. Is that right?’

‘Er… if you’re talking about Emily Richards then, yes.’ Will’s fingers slid towards the door handle.

‘It’s centrally locked,’ Mr deVillars said without taking his eyes off the road. ‘Did you put Ms Richards onto Guy? Was it you?’

There seemed little point lying.

‘I told Emily that Alice had arranged to meet Guy in her caravan on the evening she died,’ he said. ‘Yes.’

‘So, you believe Guy was responsible for what happened to that unfortunate young woman?’

‘Logic would suggest…’

‘Guy is a gentleman.’

‘With respect, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You’re his father.’

‘And I know my son. Guy is incapable of that kind of violence… the kind of violence necessary to… Well. You know.’

‘It’s your job to think the best of him.’

‘I know him. I know he didn’t lay a finger on the girl.’