He rolled his eyes. ‘Rosalind, I barely even met her! Isobel sorted the catering and such, I stayed out of the way as much as possible. I doubt I shared more than a handful of words with her the whole time.’ His words were light, but she could feel the fear under them.

She was almost certain it wasn’t an affair he was worried about being accused of. It was murder.

She’d loved him almost her whole life. And now she couldn’t even trust him.

‘Except I saw you with her. In the Spiral Garden. The day she died.’

He shrugged. ‘I bumped into her in the gardens. Spoke about the flowers. That doesn’t mean anything.’

She’d watched them, seen the intensity of their conversation. But even if she hadn’t, the beads of sweat forming on Hugh’s forehead would have told her all she needed to know.

‘Rosalind King. I’ve never loved another woman the way I love you.’ Hugh’s eyes were dark and serious, his shoulders hunched as he reached out for her.

She stepped out of his grasp.

‘I want to believe you. But Hugh … if there is something you need to tell Isobel, you should tell her.’ Even if it destroyed everything she’d spent years protecting.

‘That’s surprisingly good advice, Mr Davenport.’ They both jumped at DCI Larch’s voice, dry and humourless from the hallway. How long had he been there? ‘I’d suggest you follow it. And request that, if there is anything you’re keeping secret, you also share it with me and my team.’

Hugh’s face paled to bone white, but he remained silent. Rosalind relied on her training to appear self-assured rather than rattled. Shoulders straight, smile in place, glide as she turned …

‘Detective Chief Inspector. Was there something more you needed Hugh to help you with?’

He studied her face before he answered, and she kept it as expressionless as she could.

‘Actually, Ms King, I was hoping to speak with you.’ His gaze flicked across to Hugh. ‘Privately.’

Oh, hell. ‘Of course. Let’s go.’

Because really, what else could she do?

Chapter Twenty-Five

The policeman leered across the interview table at her. ‘Not so much fun when you’re on the other side, is it, Miss Lively?’

Dahlia Lively in The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

By Lettice Davenport, 1940

Rosalind led the DCI to her own rooms, deciding that home turf would be easiest for this confrontation. Except, she’d forgotten that her room was still strewn with the remnants of their ‘girlie sleepover’ the night before.

‘Take a seat.’ She gestured to the large sofa, and winced when Larch picked up Posy’s leopard print bra between two fingers and placed it delicately on the coffee table before him.