Yes, thought Vee, because who wouldn’t want to spend a freezing December morning dragging themselves halfway across London in order to be treated like a criminal, for no pay?

‘Very well, so be it. Thank you, Mrs Overs – no, don’t leave quite yet. Captain Van Steen?’

The coroner looked over at the American officer, who stood up and straightened his jacket before walking in a leisurely fashion towards the witness box.

‘Captain Van Steen is counsel for Corporal O’Mahoney, the driver of the lorry,’ said the coroner, to Vee. ‘He wishes to ask you one or two questions, on behalf of the Army of the United States of America. Captain Van Steen, in this country, we address the witness from the counsel’s stand.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Honour.’ The captain turned, but not before he’d got so close to Vee that she’d caught a whiff of his shaving soap. He had pale blue eyes and hair so blond and close-cut that it was almost invisible. He returned to his seat and stood in front of it, hands clasped across his stomach, just above his belt.

‘Mrs Overs, I imagine that it must have been a very frightening experience for you?’ His voice was unexpectedly soft, and his accent was strange to her, neither Gene Kelly nor Gary Cooper. Ah ee-magine. Ver’ fratt-nin.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘And it must all have happened very fast?’ Ver’ fay-ust.

‘Yes.’

‘And it was a very cold day, I understand, and the road was very icy?’

‘Yes, it was.’

The coroner made an impatient gesture. ‘Captain Van Steen, could I request that you confine yourself to questions to which we don’t already know the answer? As I’m sure you’re aware, we are already running nearly an hour behind time, due to your late arrival, inadvertent though the delay may have been.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Honour, I was just trying to set the scene.’

‘Consider it set.’

‘Yes, Your Honour.’ The pale blue eyes moved back to Vee again, but the brisk exchange had had an oddly calming effect on her; the American’s knuckles had been rapped, but hers were unscathed. She almost wished that Noel had been allowed in, so that he could see how well she was conducting herself.

‘Could you tell me then, Mrs Overs, precisely what you were doing when you heard a shout.’

‘I was talking to the gentleman.’

‘To the deceased?’

‘Yes.’

‘Talking about what? Can you recall?’

‘Well, we were talking about … about his wife, as a matter of fact. He was telling me that he’d hurt his ankle out dancing at the Palais, and that he’d first met Mrs Embleton at a dance in Kentish Town. It was a nice conversation – a happy one.’

She dared to glance at the family. Now all three women were crying.

‘So you were occupied in discussing this when you heard the shout.’

‘Yes, but then I looked up straight away and I saw a …’ She hesitated, trying to remember what the Yanks called lorries – they had a different word for them. Wagons, was it?