Paula smiled. “I’m afraid I have a serious Twitter addiction,” she said. “And, of course, I’m still interested in politics. I always will be.” She lifted her thick dark-brown hair with both hands, then let it fall, tilting her head back. Simon felt as if she were offering him, with this gesture, the opportunity to notice how stunning she was. For once when Charlie asked him, as she did about every woman he met, “How attractive was she?” Simon would be able to answer without equivocation. Paula Riddiough was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen close-up. Superhumanly attractive, even in scruffy jeans and a shirt that looked like a man’s and was clearly several years old. It was a bit like standing in a room with an alien; Simon didn’t feel he belonged to the same species and was keen to get away from his feelings of inadequacy as quickly as possible. First, though, he had questions to ask. Starting with Paula’s marriages past and present had been a mistake. Simon hadn’t realized it would lead to sentimental reminiscences and the showing of photos. He was keen to make up for lost time. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable?” he said. “There’s quite a bit more I’d like to ask.”

Paula shrugged. She walked over to the sofa with the sleeping dogs on it and perched cross-legged on its thick, square arm, looking as if she might levitate. Fergus followed. He positioned himself more conventionally on one of the seat cushions, between his wife and his dogs.

“Ask away,” said Paula.

Simon was momentarily distracted by her multicolored toenails: red, pink, green, blue, silver—on both feet, but with the color order varying. “Where were you on Monday morning between eight thirty and ten thirty?” he asked.

“Walking the dogs on Hankley Common in Surrey. We’d stayed with friends there the night before. Do you need their contact details?”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

“Stephanie Coates and Eva Patterson,” said Fergus. “The Old Butchery, Elstead. They’re in the phone book.”

Simon made a note of it. “Thanks. Ms. Riddiough, I’m going to need to—”

“Mrs. Preece,” Paula corrected him with a smile.

“I’m going to need to ask you some quite personal questions. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk in private?”

“We are talking in private, and please call me Paula. Fergus is my husband and this is our home. I’m happy for him to hear everything we say. I’m guessing your first question’s going to be, was I having an affair with Damon Blundy?”

“Why do you think I’d want to ask you that?” said Simon.