“Coffee would be nice,” said Annie. Winsome nodded in agreement.

“Come through to the kitchen, then. We can talk there.”

They followed her into a modern kitchen with stainless steel oven and fridge, copper pots and pans hanging from a rail over the central granite-topped island, and a wood-block of expensive-looking chef’s knives. Annie had sometimes thought that she would like such a well-stocked and attractive kitchen herself, but her cooking skills extended about as far as vegetarian pasta and ordering an Indian take-away, so most of the fancy equipment would be wasted on her.

Elaine put the kettle on, and while it boiled, she ground coffee beans and dropped them in a cafetière. The aroma was delicious. All her movements were economical and deft, Annie noticed, betraying her occupation and her training. Even something as simple as making coffee got her full attention. She probably even knew how to chop up a string of onions quickly, and without crying, too.

They sat on stools around the island while the coffee brewed and Annie went through her mental list of questions.

“You said you knew both Thomas McMahon and Roland Gardiner at Leeds Poly?” she started.

“Yes.”

“Did you know them together, or separately?”

“Both, actually. Look, I was in the School of Cookery – surprise, surprise – but four evenings a week I worked behind the bar in the student pub. My parents weren’t well off and my grant wasn’t exactly huge. At least we still got grants back then, not loans, like today. Anyway, that’s where I first met Tommy and Rolo. That’s what we called them back then. I was so sorry to read about what happened, but I couldn’t see how it could be at all relevant to me until your e-mail. Otherwise, I’d have come forward sooner.”

“That’s all right,” said Annie. “How were you to know what we were looking for? Anyway, we’re here now.”

“Yes.” Elaine poured the coffee. Winsome asked for milk and sugar while Annie and Elaine took theirs black. “Actually,” she said, “I went out with Rolo a few times. Just casual, like. Nothing too heavy.”

“What was he like?”

“Rolo? Well, I heard he was living alone in a caravan when he died – very sad – but back then he seemed ambitious, bright, ready to take on the world. I remember we all used to get into a lot of arguments because Rolo was a Thatcherite and the rest of us were wishy-washy liberals.” She laughed. “But he was fun, and intelligent. What can I say? We got along fine.”

“Even after you split up?”

“We remained friends. It wasn’t a serious relationship. You know what it’s like when you’re a student. You experiment, go out with different people.”

“Did you go out with Thomas McMahon, too?”

“Tommy? No. Not that he wasn’t attractive, or that he had any shortage of admirers. We just… I don’t know, we just didn’t hit it off on that level. Besides,” she added, “you may have noticed I’m a bit taller than the average woman, and Tommy was short. Not that I’ve got anything against short men, you understand, but it’s always been, well… just that little bit awkward. Even Rolo was only just about the same height as me.”

“I understand what you mean,” said Winsome, looking up from her notebook and smiling.

“Yes, I’ll bet you do,” Elaine said.

Annie sipped her coffee. It was still hot enough to burn her tongue, but it tasted as wonderful as the ground beans had smelled. “So Tommy and Rolo were good friends?” she went on.

“Yes. They met in the pub, liked the same music, and even though he was studying business, Rolo was no slouch when it came to the arts. I think he liked hanging around with the artsy crowd. He said more than once that most of his fellow business students were boring. I remember, he used to write. Stories, poetry… His poems were quite good. What he showed me, anyway. Not your usual adolescent rubbish. Thoughtful. Some of them even rhymed. And he was well-read.”

“So they weren’t such odd bedfellows?”

“No, not at all.”

“Did you ever know anyone back then by the name of Masefield? William Masefield?”

“No. I can’t say I did. Why?”

“Doesn’t matter. What about a Leslie Whitaker?”

“Can’t say that rings a bell, either.”

“Was there anyone else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was it just the two of them hung out together, or were they part of a larger group?”

“Oh, I see what you mean. Well, there used to be quite a few of them sat in the back corner. Mostly art students, and a few guests from outside. But it was the three of them stuck together most of all.”

“Three of them?”

“Yes. Rolo, Tommy and Giles.”

“Who was Giles?”

Elaine smiled and, to Annie’s eyes, even seemed to blush a little at the memory. “Giles was my boyfriend. My real boyfriend. For the second year, at any rate.”

“And he was a friend of Tommy’s and Rolo’s?”

“Yes. Thick as thieves, they were.”

“This Giles, what college was he attached to?”

“He wasn’t. Giles went to the uni, Leeds University.”

“To study what?”

“Art history.”

That was interesting, Annie thought. “He wasn’t a painter or a sculptor?”

“No.” Elaine laughed. “He said he had no talent for it, but he loved it. The same with music. He liked to listen – classical mostly, but he did often come to see bands with us – although he couldn’t play an instrument.”

“How did he know Rolo and Tommy?”

“I don’t know. They probably got talking in one of those pubs on Woodhouse Lane near the campus. The three of them just came as a package.”

“And you say you went out with Giles?”

“For a year, yes. My second year.”

“Serious?”

Elaine looked down into her coffee cup. “Yes, I suppose so. For me. At least, that was what I thought at the time. Young love. It’s all so long ago. It feels strange to be thinking back after all this time, all that’s happened since.”

“What happened to Giles?”

“He vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Just like that. I don’t mean he was abducted or anything. At least I don’t think he was. He just disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived on the scene.”

“Had he finished his degree?”

“No, that was the funny thing. It was only the end of his second year. He never came back.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to find out about him from the department, but they wouldn’t tell me anything, of course.”

“Did you have a row or something?”

“No. Honestly. He just… One day he was there, and everything was fine, but the next day he was gone. Maybe not quite like that. I mean, we were all away for the holidays, but he just didn’t come back. Not a trace. It was sad… I mean, I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced this, but he was one of those people who leaves a big hole in your life when he goes.” She laughed. “Listen to me. Aren’t I being silly? Anyway, I suppose what I’m saying is that I was a little bit in love with him.”

“Can you tell me anything more about him?”

“Not really. He was a bit of a dark horse. That’s probably one of the other things that was so exciting about him. The mysterious quality. But he was great fun to be around. And generous. He always seemed to have plenty of money.”

“Do you know where he got it from?”

“His parents were wealthy. His father had something to do with defense work, government contracts. Knew Maggie Thatcher personally, apparently. If you ask me, I think he was an arms dealer. Come to think of it, Giles was a lot closer to Rolo in his political ideas than any of the rest of us. And his mother was related to the Duke of Devonshire. Only distantly, mind. Anyway, they had a big old family mansion house outside King’s Lynn.”

“Did you ever go there?”

“No. Not inside, at any rate. Giles drove me past it once, perhaps because I nagged him about it so much. But we didn’t go in. He said his parents were away in Italy and the place was locked up. Very Brideshead Revisited.”