Knowing Andrew will go to the pub with everyone else, Niamh and I leave the church, my sense of unease building. As we walk home, it begins to rain, the force of it rapidly intensifying so that we only just make it back before it becomes a downpour. Niamh goes upstairs to change while I put the kettle on and make a pot of coffee, my head buzzing with thoughts of Hollie’s funeral.

As I go back over what I saw, I become more convinced there’s something going on between James and Phil Mason. I already know from Stephanie what James is embroiled in. Then there’s the argument I stumbled upon that day in the woods, between James and some unidentified person. Could that have been Mason? There’s also Mason’s wealth, which Della hinted at, to consider. But quite how this all adds up, I’m not sure.

Thinking back to what Stephanie told me about James’s so-called investment and how it’s bankrupted them, my blood runs cold. If Andrew had got involved in something similar, would I know?

The truth is, I wouldn’t. I don’t know half of what he does.

With Niamh up in her bedroom, I go quietly to Andrew’s study, closing the door behind me before sitting at his desk. Opening the drawers, I glance at the few letters inside, which appear innocuous. But there isn’t a lot to find – if Andrew was involved in anything nefarious, he’d be meticulous about covering his tracks.

My eyes scan the shelves behind his desk, but if I do find anything here, I know it will be because he wants me to. I wonder if he knows about the mess James has got himself into. Judging from the look James gave him, there’s clearly ill-feeling between them. Maybe I should ask Stephanie if she knows why.

Leaving everything as I found it, I close the study door behind me. But my suspicions have taken root and even though it’s risking Andrew’s temper, I want to know more. It’s late when he comes back from the pub stinking of whisky and cigarette smoke, slurring his words.

‘What’s for dinner, Elise?’

Dinner’s long gone. Niamh and I ate two hours ago. ‘I assumed you were eating at the pub.’ I watch him get a glass and pour himself a large Scotch. ‘I didn’t realise you knew Phil Mason,’ I say calmly. ‘Are he and James friends? I assumed they must be, otherwise why else would he have been at the funeral?’

Turning around, he puts his glass down, his eyes narrowing as he comes over and stands in front of me. ‘It’s a small village, Elise. Of course I know him. What exactly are you trying to say?’