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had all gone wrong with Sophie was that she had threatened to go to Ashby’s wife when he’d repeatedly failed to deliver.
    Plausible, Beth supposed, if you didn’t know him. Highly implausible if you did, since you’d beonly too aware of his wife’s pathetically long history of tolerance and forgiveness, so why go to the length of killing someone to stop her telling Beth a story she’d heard countless times before?
    Dimly she wondered where the reporters had got the story from, for she’d been unable to find any interviews or statements from Sophie Long’s friends or family, but maybe she just hadn’t looked hard enough. Nor would she, for going through the papers like this, seeing her husband connected in such horrifying circumstances with a girl who should only ever have been a stranger, was a perversely self-punishing exercise that was doing frightening things to her mind.
    ‘Here,’ Sandra said, a clean, lemon smell wafting from her freshly washed hair as she set down a pot of coffee and warm croissants. ‘I know you’re not hungry, but you should try to eat something.’
    Beth smiled weakly, then forced herself to show more warmth. After all, she really was touched by Charlie and Sandra’s kindness, for not everyone would be willing to shield the wife of a suspected killer from the press, even if it was only for one night.
    Georgie walked in from the garden, still talking into her mobile phone. ‘I know, Elsa,’ she was saying, ‘but I’m sorry, I can’t tell you where we are right now. It’s not that we don’t trust you … Oh, come on, Elsa, you’re a really good friend, and we know you wouldn’t … Listen, I’m just saying, as long as we tell no one … No, we’re not in Gloucestershire. Nor in the London house. Elsa, stop it! I know this is hard, but try to think of what it’s like for Beth. OK, I’ll send her your love.’ Shepaused, then through gritted teeth said, ‘Just tell them the truth, Elsa. For heaven’s sake, what else would you tell them?’
    After she’d rung off she sat down at the end of the table and took the mug of coffee Sandra was passing over. ‘It seems the police are contacting just about everyone you know,’ she told Beth, taking a sip. ‘And Elsa’s about the fifth who’s asked me what she should say. What do they think – that we want them to lie, or something?’
    Beth’s haunted, tired eyes came to hers. Her insides were like lead weights. ‘I wonder who’ll be the first kiss-and-tell,’ she said hoarsely. At least one of the many mistresses would speak out, that much was certain, and dread of it was already piling up with everything else. ‘Not that half of Fleet Street doesn’t know already what he’s like,’ she added. ‘I suppose it’s a measure of how popular he is that no one’s exposed him before this. After all, his new position made him a prime target.’
    ‘They don’t seem to be exhibiting much loyalty here,’ Sandra commented bleakly, looking down at the papers. ‘Did you see this? They’re trying to say here that you think he did it.’
    ‘Is that the Laurie Forbes piece?’ Beth said.
    Sandra nodded. ‘She’s obviously completely misquoted you.’
    ‘Or she used words you said and put them together her own way,’ Georgie declared. ‘What’s the matter with these people? Don’t they understand shock?’
    ‘She practically forced her way in,’ Beth told them, staring down at her coffee. ‘I hardly knewwhat I was saying, but the chances are she’s right, I did ask her who he’d killed. Obviously, I meant to say, “Who’s he supposed to have killed?” but I wasn’t actually thinking of the precise words I was using, or how she might read them.’ Her eyes closed for a horribly anguished moment. ‘Do you think Colin’s seen it?’ she said in a whisper.
    Sandra and Georgie glanced at each other. In their own ways they too were feeling disoriented and bemused, for neither had ever had to deal with anything like