Paula grinned. “Everyone I’ve met since my very public war with Damon has asked me. A lot of people thought we’d be a match made in heaven: both good-looking, both shameless self-publicists. It was hilarious. We obviously hated each other, but no one let that put them off! They insisted on seeing sexual tension where there was none.”

“So, are you going to answer the question, then?”

“I thought I had, but if you want me to do so more explicitly: no, I did not sleep with Damon Blundy. Ever. We weren’t having an affair.”

“Yet you met him at least twice,” said Simon. “In 2011, on October 26 and on November 11.”

“I met him only twice.”

“On those two dates, correct?”

“I can’t remember. Didn’t you contact my assistant, Gemma?”

“Yes. Those were the dates she gave me.”

“Then those were the dates.” Simon heard a steel edge in Paula’s voice that he hadn’t heard before. Fergus Preece might as well have been a spectator at a tennis match; he was turning back and forth to look at his wife, then at Simon, as each one spoke. He would injure his neck if he didn’t watch out.

“I don’t think you were entirely honest with me,” Simon said. “You told me you couldn’t remember exactly when you and Damon Blundy met, but I don’t think you’d have forgotten arranging to meet him on November 11, 2011. Particularly since the time of the meeting was eleven minutes past eleven A.M.”

“Oh yes!” Paula laughed. “So it was. Well, you’re wrong, as you can see, because I did forget. Completely forgot until I heard you say it.”

Simon gave himself a few seconds, wondering where to go next. Confident outright denial was the hardest kind of dishonesty to deal with. “I’m trying to imagine the conversation you and Blundy must have had,” he said. “One of you must have suggested continuing the elevens theme from the date to the time. Sounds like a memorable conversation to me—a memorable diary appointment. How often is it possible to make an arrangement like that? Once a year, maximum? This year, it’s not possible at all, is it? There’s no thirteenth month.”

“That’s a good point,” said Fergus. “Let’s see, a setup like that wouldn’t work again until . . .” He broke off, scratched his head. “Hmph,” he concluded.

“The first of January, 2101,” said Paula. “We’ll all have followed in Damon Blundy’s footsteps by then and shuffled off to oblivion. A dispiriting thought.”

Simon was determined not to be sidetracked. “You only met Damon Blundy twice, you say. Once was at eleven minutes past eleven on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year of this century, and you expect me to believe that that detail slipped your mind?”