‘You knew her, I suppose? It’s very sad. The timing…’ he stops himself and directs his gaze downwards as if scooping up thoughts lying on the floor. ‘Of course, we knew she was ill, but why she chose this moment is a mystery.’

Nevis presses her lips so tight it feels they might burst from their skins, like two sausages, and reaches for her wineglass. She thinks, please don’t make me talk about this. I don’t know what to say.

‘Oh, you’ve nearly finished your wine. Let’s get you another.’ The Dean waves to attract the waiter’s attention and points to her wineglass.

She waits for the wine with her hands in her lap, head bowed. The food hasn’t yet arrived and she’s already gulped down a large glass. He will think she’s a boozer.

‘So then, Jessica,’ he begins.

She wishes he’d leave the subject. ‘I didn’t know her very well.’

‘It’s so difficult for the parents when they have nothing to go on,’ Cullen says, ignoring her response. ‘I don’t suppose you know whether she left any kind of communication. A letter, or, I suppose, more likely these days, a text message or an email?’

The waiter returns to take the food order. She glances at the menu.

‘Nevis?’ the Dean says, with one eye on the waiter.

‘Oh, I… I haven’t really looked.’ There is panic in her voice.

Cullen’s eyes fall back to the menu. ‘The spaghetti arrabbiata is rather wonderful here.’

‘OK,’ she says. The only spaghetti she knows is Honor’s spaghetti bolognaise. She’d cooked it that evening last summer, when Satnam and Luke came to stay; before the letter, before the incident on the bridge, before Jessica’s death, before everything mad and weird and inexplicable. The Dean orders two portions of the spaghetti and a side salad and another two glasses of wine. At that moment his phone pings. He picks it up and inspects the screen, then puts it down again.

Clearing his throat he says, ‘You were saying, before, that Jessica and Satnam were friends.’

Did she say that? If she did, she has no memory of doing so. Why is he interrogating her like this? Didn’t he say he wanted to talk about her work and also to tell her something? Was this the something? If only she understood better what was expected in this kind of situation.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Oh, but you did say,’ he says, smiling, his gaze not following. ‘I wanted to ask whether you’d managed to get into Satnam’s phone? We thought it might be useful, you know, to understand what might have been going on in Jessica’s mind. The two of them almost certainly had some kind of correspondence, given they were friends, like you said.’