And then Sajid Khan had made his slip-up. At the end of our meeting, he mentioned that Katie had approached him and that he’d recommended someone called Wilcox. He’d quickly realised his mistake and he’d tried to cover it up but I’d known something was wrong. Why would Katie have been consulting a solicitor? Once again, the Internet had helped me. I’d started by typing ‘Wilcox London Lawyers’. I suppose I was lucky that it was a relatively uncommon name. My first search only brought up a dozen possible candidates. It was easy enough to dismiss Jerome Wilcox (trading standards), Paul Wilcox (intellectual property) and so on. Then I had a brainwave and tried ‘Wilcox Ipswich Lawyers’. I found Adam Wilcox on the first page. He specialised in divorce.

‘Did Gordon tell you?’ Katie asked.

‘I haven’t spoken to Gordon in a long time,’ I said.

‘Nor have I.’ She tried to smile but that wouldn’t work any more. ‘I didn’t want to tell you because it’s so boring,’ she said. ‘After everything I’ve said to you over the years, I thought you’d sit there and think I was pompous and stupid and that it served me right.’

I reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘I’d never think that,’ I said. ‘Not in a hundred years.’

‘I’m sorry.’ And now the tears came. She picked up her napkin and wiped her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that. That wasn’t fair.’

‘Just tell me what’s happened.’

She sighed. ‘Gordon is having an affair with his secretary. Her name is Naomi. She’s twenty years younger than him. Isn’t that just the worst thing you ever heard?’

‘It makes him sound ridiculous,’ I said.

‘He is ridiculous.’ She wasn’t crying any more. Katie had become upset because she thought she’d been unkind to me. Talking about Gordon just made her angry. ‘I’ve had all the usual crap about how he loves me and he loves the children and he doesn’t want to hurt the family but how he was secretly unhappy and she makes him feel young again and we all need a fresh start and blah blah blah blah. He’s pathetic – but half of me blames myself. I should never have agreed to this “week in London, weekends in Woodbridge” arrangement. I should have known it would end in tears.’

‘When did this all happen?’ I asked.

‘It started a couple of years ago, just after you went to Crete. Gordon said he was getting worn out with all the commuting and wanted to rent a one-bedroom flat near the bank and like a fool, I agreed. At first it was just one or two nights a week. But suddenly he was only home at weekends and he even managed to miss a few of those. Conferences. Foreign trips. Golf with his boss. God knows, I should have seen it. The writing wasn’t just on the wall. It was in capital letters!’

‘How did you find out?’

‘A text. His phone pinged late at night and I saw it for a few seconds before it got covered over by his screen saver. I have a feeling sweet little Naomi probably did it on purpose. She wanted me to know. Of course she did.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Send you an email to Crete? What good would that do?’

‘I was here a few days ago … ’

‘I’m sorry, Sue. I should have. I wanted to. But part of me was ashamed and I know that’s ridiculous because I’ve got nothing to be ashamed about, but at the same time I’ve always gone on at you about you and Andreas and how you should get your life together and maybe I just wasn’t brave enough to admit that my own life was falling apart.’

‘You know I’d have been there for you.’

‘I know. And don’t have a go at me or I’ll start crying again. I knew you’d find out sooner or later and I was dreading it.’

I had to ask. ‘I suppose Jack and Daisy know.’

She nodded. ‘I had to tell them. I’m afraid they’ve both taken it very badly. Daisy won’t even speak to him. She’s just disgusted by the whole thing. And as for Jack … You’ve seen him. I’m trying to put on a brave face. “You’ve still got a father”, “midlife crisis” – and all the rest of it. But if you want the truth, Sue, part of me is quite pleased that they’ve taken against him. He’s a selfish bastard and he’s made a complete mess of everything.’

There was more coming. I could tell.

‘He’s spent a lot of money on Naomi. At the same time, his work at the bank has gone downhill and he’s lost his job. Not that he cares at the moment. He’s in his love nest in Willesden and all’s right with the world. But we’re going to have to sell this house. I could buy him out but I haven’t got the money and basically it’s fifty-fifty. I’m not going to give you all the financial details. It’s a mess.’

‘Where will you live?’

‘I haven’t even thought that through yet. Somewhere smaller. Three Chimneys goes on the market next week.’

She got up from the table and put on the kettle. She needed to have a moment with her back to me. ‘I’m glad you know,’ she said, still not looking at me.

‘I’m so sorry for you, Katie. But I’m glad I know too. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us.’

‘Twenty-five years! It’s amazing how quickly it can all fall apart.’

She stood there waiting for the kettle to boil. Neither of us said anything. Finally, she came back to the table carrying two mugs of coffee. We sat facing each other for a few moments more.

‘Will you stay in Woodbridge?’ I asked.

‘If I can. All my friends are here and they’ve said I can work full-time at Greenways if I want to. Here I am, heading towards fifty and starting full-time work again!’ She looked into the black pool of her coffee. ‘It’s not fair, Sue. It really isn’t.’

‘I wish I could help you.’

‘Just knowing you’re there helps me. And I’ll be fine. This house has got to be worth quite a bit. I’ve got savings. The children are almost old enough to look after themselves … ’

We talked some more and I promised I’d see her again before I left Suffolk and that I was always at the end of a phone if she needed me. And I know it was wrong of me, but all the time I was thinking of Andreas and wishing that we’d never had that argument in Crete, that I hadn’t written him that email, that I had never come to Branlow Hall.

Later that afternoon, I tried ringing him again. I still got no reply.

The Owl

It was three o’clock when I got back to the hotel and all I wanted to do was go up to my room, lie on the bed with a damp cloth over my eyes and put the whole business of Frank Parris and Cecily Treherne out of my head. Lisa Treherne had given me until twelve o’clock the next day to come to some sort of resolution but I wasn’t even close. I felt strung out after my meeting with Katie. I was worried about her. And talking about my so-called investigation had only shown me how very little I had managed to find out.

But as I entered the reception area to pick up my key I heard my name called out and, turning round, I found myself face-to-face with the last person I’d expected to see. Alan Conway’s ex-wife, Melissa, was standing there with a thin smile that said she knew I was surprised to see her rather than that she was surprised or even pleased to see me. It had been two years since we had met briefly, in her home in Bradford-on-Avon, and she hadn’t changed: short, chestnut hair, high cheekbones, an elegance that bordered on the austere.

‘You don’t remember me,’ she said.

I realised I had been staring at her. ‘Of course I remember you, Melissa,’ I said. ‘I just didn’t expect to see you here. What are you doing in Woodbridge?’

‘I lived here. After Orford, I rented a cottage in the grounds of Branlow Hall.’

‘Yes. I heard.’

‘I made a lot of friends here. Aiden MacNeil helped me at what was obviously a very difficult time for me just after my divorce. When I read about Cecily’s disappearance, I thought I ought to come up and lend my support. You know, you’ve quite upset him.’

‘I didn’t mean to do that.’

‘He seems to think you’ve got it in for him.’ I didn’t respond so she went on. ‘I’m going back to B-on-A this evening, but I was hoping I’d see you. Would you have time for a cup of tea?’

‘Of course, Melissa. I’d like that.’

I didn’t want tea. And I certainly didn’t want to sit there being accused by Melissa. But at the same time, I needed to speak to her. She had been at the hotel on the Thursday before the wedding – in a bad mood, according to Lionel Corby, who had seen her at the spa. And although she had been separated from Alan Conway by the time Atticus Pünd Takes the Case was published, she had known him better than anyone. She had been married to him for eight years and she had been the one who had suggested he write murder mysteries in the first place. It was interesting that she had become friendly with Aiden MacNeil. I had thought Alan’s book had been the only link between the death of Frank Parris and the disappearance of Cecily Treherne. Now I realised that she was another.

We went into the lounge. I would have preferred to sit outside with a cigarette but she had led the way quite forcibly. We sat down.

‘So when did you see Aiden?’ I asked.

‘We had lunch together at the cottage just now. I came over to the hotel hoping that I’d find you.’ A waiter appeared and I ordered a mineral water. Melissa had coffee. ‘You know that he is very much in love with his wife,’ she continued once we were alone. ‘I saw them together before they were married and I can tell you. He dotes on her.’

‘Did they invite you to the wedding?’