Jack and I sit side by side on the sofa while Margot bustles out of the room again. Five minutes later she’s back with a bag of frozen peas that she hands to Jack. ‘For the eye,’ she says. ‘Hold it there for a good five to ten minutes to reduce the swelling. That’s it. Now, I’ll go and fetch some tea.’

She leaves the room again and Jack turns to me. He’s moved the bag of peas from his left eye to his swollen lip. ‘She seems really nice,’ he says, his voice muffled by the bag.

‘She is. She’s thawed a bit since I first called round. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of her, though. She’s …’

I fall silent as Margot returns, carrying a tray and setting it down on the coffee table. She pours us both tea and leaves us to add milk as she settles herself in one of the armchairs. She seems chirpier today and I wonder if she’s had news about Heather.

‘How is Heather?’ I ask, stirring my tea. ‘Is there any change?’

‘No. But she’s stable. The doctors say there’s no reason why she should still be in a coma. Apparently it’s her body’s way of resting. There is no longer any swelling or bleeding on the brain. So it’s good news.’ She smiles, tucking her slippered feet underneath her. For once she’s not wearing jodhpurs but a pair of jeggings and a long jumper with a horse on the front. ‘I’m hopeful.’

‘I’m so pleased. I’d …’ I hesitate, trying not to look at Jack. ‘I’d love to see her again. When she wakes up. That is, if she’d like to see me.’

There’s so much I wish I could say to her. To apologize for.

Margot’s expression is steadfast and I’m worried I’ve gone too far, asked for too much. But, to my surprise, she nods. ‘I think she might like that. Yes.’

I’m so relieved and grateful that I can feel myself smiling back gormlessly. Then I remember why we’re here. I reach down to the bag at my feet and retrieve my notebook and pen.

Margot’s eyes go to the notebook and I see her stiffen. I try to ease her in gently, just asking some anodyne questions, about the business and Heather’s set-up with Adam and Ethan. Margot’s answers are guarded and my heart falls. If she’s like this now, how will she react when I start probing further?

‘So, the day of the shooting. Last Friday …’

‘I can’t believe it’s only a week ago today,’ she mumbles. ‘So much has changed.’

Only a week. It feels much longer. ‘So that day,’ I try again, ‘where were you when you heard?’