Elspeth had a lot of media dedicated to her courtesy of her husband’s family. There were photos of her at galas, charity balls, cutting a ribbon somewhere. But those images, that public facade, wasn’t the version of Elspeth she was interested in. That wasn’t the link to Angela. She found what she was looking for after just a few minutes. It began with the baby photos.

‘Good evening,’ Baarda said quietly. ‘Can I get you another of whatever that was?’

‘Hey, I saved you a stool. Do you mind sitting at the bar, only I always feel like I’m with my parents if I sit at a table? I’ll take a frozen Grey Goose, as you’re offering.’

‘The bar is fine,’ he smiled, ordering a Château de Laubade Armagnac.

Baarda had changed his usual white shirt for a navy blue version and rolled up the sleeves.

‘Did you spill something?’ Connie asked.

‘It seemed impolite to turn up in the same shirt I’d been wearing for the previous fourteen hours.’

‘I hadn’t figured you for the turned-up-sleeves thing. Letting your hair down?’ she smiled.

‘Are we back at Downton Abbey again?’ He raised his glass to hers, and they touched the edges of the crystal together lightly.

‘My timeline got messed up.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘I think maybe I jumped ahead a century or two. Who’s the guy who comes out of the lake in that Jane Austen movie? The one who either doesn’t speak, or when he does he’s just devastatingly polite?’

‘For the love of God, it really has been a long day. “The guy who comes out of the lake”? You’re referring to Fitzwilliam Darcy.’

‘Give me a break. I studied psychology, not literature from the dawn of time. And yeah, you’re a dead ringer for the Darcy guy.’ Connie raised her glass and rewarded herself with a drink.

‘Coming from anyone else that would be a compliment. How do you manage to be the opposite of everyone?’

‘Practice. The thing about Darcy in that book …’

‘Pride and Prejudice.’

‘Uh-huh, the thing is, he was closed off emotionally.’

‘I’m aware,’ Baarda said.

‘The reader has to assume all the passion. It happens out of view. His anger, the retribution, his feelings. You even have the Darcy curly hair and serious eyes. What colour are yours?’

‘Brown,’ Baarda sighed.

‘No, won’t do,’ Connie said. ‘How many shades of green do you think there are?’

‘I have no—’

‘Neither do I, but lots, right. Green is a category of colours, not a colour. You have to be more creative. Look, I have an app on my cell that lists colour shades.’ She flicked the screen. ‘Here you go, colour names with shades and little samples. Choose the right one.’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’m going with burnt umber. Does this really help?’