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did. Got back yesterday.’
    ‘Golly.’ The other woman’s eyes widened even further than normal. ‘I never thought old Andy’d let you go.’
    ‘What do you mean? Let me go? It wasn’t up to him.’
    ‘Rubbish. He treats you like one of the children – and you let him. I must admit I was surprised when you said you were going.’
    ‘Well, I went. And I’m going back.’
    ‘Back? When?’
    ‘I don’t know when.’ She stared at the contents of her trolley. ‘In fact, I don’t quite know what I’m going to do at all, but I’m definitely going. I’ve been left a derelict theatre.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I didn’t actually go inside, but I know where it is. I want to open it up.’
    ‘Open it?’ Excitement swept across Viv’s sharp features. ‘As a theatre?’
    ‘Yes. If I can find out how to go about it.’
    ‘Fantastic. Will you take us down there? I mean the Monday Players.’
    ‘Oh, Viv, I couldn’t.’ Bella shook her head. ‘I don’t know how to go about it all – really.’
    ‘But what does Andrew say about it all? I bet he’s mad.’
    Bella sighed. ‘Yes, he is. He can’t understand why I want to do it. He thought I should sell the site for “us” to get some capital out of it. And he doesn’t want me swanning off to Kent every five minutes.’
    ‘I don’t suppose the children do, either,’ the other woman nodded sagely, ‘not if it means them being left with Andrew.’
    ‘No.’ Bella sighed again. ‘I thought it would be all right. After all, Tony’s seventeen and Amanda’s nearly sixteen, but they missed me.’
    ‘So how would they cope? I can’t see them being over-enamoured of moving to Kent.’
    ‘Oh, no, there’s no question of that.’ Bella realised that she was lying and rushed on. ‘I’ll just have to commute until I see what’s going to happen.’
    ‘Well, I don’t know how. You haven’t got any money and Andrew won’t fund you.’
    ‘Something’ll work out.’ Bella made to push her trolley further on. ‘See if it doesn’t.’
    Viv couldn’t refrain from a final valedictory comment. ‘It’ll work out in the divorce courts if you’re not careful,’ she said. ‘Mark my words.’

Chapter Three
    F RAN OPENED THE DOOR to the flat with her phone in the other hand.
    ‘Yes,’ she was saying, ‘of course, but I don’t see why …?’
    Libby followed her up the stairs.
    ‘All right, I suppose so.’ Fran frowned. ‘Give me her number. No, she can’t have mine. And I don’t know why you think I can help her, anyway.’ She waved Libby towards a bottle on the table. ‘All right. Yes, I’ll let you know. Goodbye.’ She switched off the phone and looked at Libby. ‘That was Inspector Connell,’ she said.
    ‘Really?’ Libby put her own bottle down next to Fran’s. ‘Which wine?’
    ‘Don’t mind,’ said Fran. ‘You’ll never guess what he wanted.’
    ‘To ask you out?’
    ‘Don’t be daft, Lib. Didn’t you hear my side of the conversation?’
    ‘Something about giving someone your number.’
    ‘Exactly. Pour me a glass and I’ll tell you all.’
    Libby poured two glasses and sat on the window sill. ‘Go on then.’
    ‘Apparently, Inspector Connell has suggested I can help some woman who’s just found a body.’
    ‘What?’ Libby’s mouth dropped open.
    ‘This woman’s inherited a theatre or something. In Nethergate.’
    ‘In Nethergate? I didn’t know there was a theatre in Nethergate. There’s the Carlton Pavilion, of course.’
    ‘No, it’s disused. I think I remember it on the seafront.’
    ‘Oh!’ Libby’s face lit up. ‘Of course. The Alexandria! They used to have summer shows there, revues and things. I believe it had been going since the First World War. Not sure of the details, but I remember being taken to see shows there.’
    ‘That’s it.’ Fran nodded. ‘Well, this woman’s inherited it.’
    ‘Lucky bugger,’ said Libby.
    ‘It’s derelict apparently, so I assume it’s going on the market.