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her head.
     
    ‘Jealousy. You’ll always get it. The wives of successful men always get that thrown at them, that they’re only with the bloke because of his money. It happens the other way round, too. Behind every successful woman is a spongeing bastard; behind every successful man is a gold-digger.’ He smiled and took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Of course sometimes it’s true.’
     
    Now it was Donna’s turn to smile. The atmosphere seemed to lighten a little.
     
    Connelly moved away from the fireplace and sat down opposite her, chancing another swift glance at her as she ran a hand over her face.
     
    ‘How much did you know about Chris?’ she asked.
     
    Connelly frowned.
     
    ‘What do you mean?’ the agent asked, looking a little puzzled.
     
    ‘I mean about his work, his character. What he did in his spare time. How much did you know about what he thought?’
     
    Connelly looked bemused.
     
    ‘Would you say you knew him, Martin? Knew him as a person, not just as a client?’
     
    ‘That’s a strange question, Donna. I don’t see what you’re driving at.’
     
    Their conversation was momentarily interrupted as Julie arrived with a tray of coffee cups, milk and sugar. She set it down and poured cups for Donna and Connelly, saying she had some things to unpack. ‘I’ll leave you to talk.’ She smiled at Connelly. ‘It was good to meet you.’ Again she disappeared and Donna heard her footsteps on the stairs.
     
    Connelly dropped sugar cubes into his cup and stirred gently.
     
    ‘What do you mean, did I know Chris?’ he asked.
     
    ‘You were pretty close, weren’t you? I mean, he must have told you things. About himself, about his work, about me.’
     
    ‘Donna, I was his agent, not his bloody confessor. If my clients want to tell me their problems, that’s up to them. I care about them, and I like to think it’s not just on a professional level.’
     
    ‘Did Chris tell you his problems?’
     
    ‘What kind of problems?’ Connelly said, taken aback by her questions. ‘What made you think he had any? If he had, you’d know more about them than me. You were his wife.’
     
    ‘I hadn’t forgotten, Martin,’ she said acidly. ‘But there might have been things he told you that he couldn’t tell me.’
     
    Connelly shook his head.
     
    ‘Did he tell you he was having an affair?’ she demanded.
     
    The agent looked at her evenly.
     
    ‘What makes you think he was?’ he wanted to know. ‘And even if he was, which I doubt, what makes you so sure he’d tell me ?’
     
    ‘You said you were close to your clients. He couldn’t very well tell me, could he?’
     
    ‘What gives you the idea he was having an affair, for Christ’s sake? He loved you. Why would he want to screw around with other women?’
     
    ‘Does your professionalism run to protecting him when he’s dead, Martin?’
     
    ‘Donna, I know you’re going through a bad time, I understand that. But this is shit.’ There was a hint of anger in Connelly’s voice. ‘Chris wasn’t having an affair and if he was, he didn’t say anything to me about it. You’re on about that crap in the paper about him being found in the car with a woman, aren’t you?’
     
    ‘He was found in the car with a woman.’
     
    ‘That doesn’t mean she was his mistress. Jesus Christ, Donna. Think about it logically.’
     
    ‘I don’t know what to think any more, Martin,’ she hissed. ‘But I’ll tell you this, if you’re keeping quiet just because you think it’s saving me hurt then you may as well tell me what you know. I couldn’t suffer any more than I’m suffering now.’
     
    ‘Just listen to what you’re saying, Donna,’ Connelly told her, trying to keep his voice even. ‘Your husband is dead and all you can think about is whether or not he was having a fucking affair.’
     
    An uneasy silence descended.
     
    Donna rested her head on her hand, her eyes averted. Connelly kept his gaze on her. When he