As for Rowena, she’d changed, as Sarah had said. The intensity was still there, but the threat of imminent disintegration had vanished. She was in command of herself, though how certainly I couldn’t tell. Her manner had become distant. I don’t mean she was hostile towards me, or even cool. But she’d retreated behind a mask. And though the performance she gave was convincing, it was also expressionless. As if she’d willed herself to forget whatever was inconvenient or ambiguous in her recollections of 17 July 1990. At the cost of the most appealing part of her personality. She was still fragile. But somehow no longer vulnerable.

“I can’t tell you,” said Sir Keith when the girls had gone off to bed, “what a help your sister-in-law’s been to us these past few months.”

“Bella?” I responded, unable to disguise my surprise.

“She’s a wonderful woman, as I’m sure you’d agree. She’s put Rowena back on her feet in a way I don’t think I’d have been able to.”

“Really?” This was news to me. And news I didn’t much care for.

“I’ve found her company a genuine tonic. We have bereavement in common, I suppose. Her husband. My wife. Only those who’ve suffered in the same way can really understand, you know.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” But I wasn’t at all sure it applied to Bella. She must have given Sir Keith a vastly different impression of her reaction to Hugh’s death from the one I’d received.

“I only wish she could have been in court last week. I’d have been glad of a friendly face. But the prosecuting counsel… Well, my solicitor actually… Some nonsense about how it would look if…” He puffed his cheeks irritably and sipped some brandy. “Still, when this ghastly business is all over…” Then he grinned. “Just wanted to put you in the picture, Robin. So it doesn’t come as a shock. Some people can be damned prudish about this sort of thing. But not you, I dare say.”

“No. Of course not.” I smiled cautiously, trying not to show my incredulity. And something worse than incredulity. Disgust? Disapproval? Not quite. What I really felt was a form of jealousy. How dare Bella try to replace Louise Paxton? How dare Sir Keith even think of allowing her to? He should have loved Louise too much for such a thing to be possible. He should have loved her as I would have done in his place. Instead of which-

“I’ve you to thank for meeting Bella, of course. If you hadn’t recommended Sarah to her as a lodger… Well, I’m grateful, believe me.”

Oh, I believed him. I’d be earning his gratitude twice over-though he wouldn’t realize it-by what I said in court about his no longer irreplaceable wife. That’s what made it so hard to bear. Sometimes, it’s better to be cursed than to be thanked. And sometimes it’s the same thing.

We went to the courts together next morning. They were housed in a modern city centre building externally similar to the offices of a prosperous insurance company. Inside, three galleried floors were crowded with lawyers, clients, policemen, journalists, witnesses and assorted hangers-on. Anxious consultations were under way in stairwells and corridors. And many of the faces were deadly serious. Some of its chain-smoking victims might think the law a joke. But none of them regarded it as a laughing matter.

Sir Keith and his daughters knew what to expect. They’d been there before. A few press cameras snapped as we entered, capturing Sir Keith impassive in three piece pin-stripe and old school tie, Sarah sombre and black-suited, Rowena pale but composed in a lilac dress. We climbed to the top floor and Sir Keith went into Court Twelve while Rowena and I waited outside with Sarah. Within ten minutes of the start, Rowena was called. I wished her luck, which she barely acknowledged. Then she was shown in by an usher and Sarah followed, leaving me to kick my heels as the morning slowly elapsed.

I’d anticipated a lonely vigil and had brought Adrian’s preliminary report on Viburna Sportswear to study while I waited. I couldn’t concentrate on it, of course, but it gave me something to look at instead of the other hang-dog occupants of the landing. Which explains why the first I knew of Bella’s arrival on the scene was when she sat down beside me.

“Hello, Robin,” she whispered. “What’s happening inside?”

“Bella! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I. Until I decided I wanted to. I shan’t go in. Keith’s forbidden me to. But I thought at least I could have lunch with you all. Perhaps dinner afterwards.”

“I’m sure Keith will be delighted to see you.”

“But you’re not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No. And you don’t say half the things you mean. But I was married to your brother for nearly twenty years. I know the signs.”

“I’m sure you do. And I’m glad you haven’t forgotten Hugh altogether.”

“So hard.” She looked at me more in disappointment than anger. “The living are more important than the dead, Robin. Remember that.”

“I’ll try to.”

“I’ll put your tetchiness down to nerves. This waiting can’t be easy for you.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Good. That’ll make your evidence all the more convincing.” She lit a cigarette and offered me one, knowing I’d given up years ago but enjoying the momentary hesitation before I refused. “But then,” she added, blowing out a lungful of smoke, “what can be more convincing than the truth?”

What I’d have said in reply I’ll never know, because at that moment the door leading from the court opened and Rowena came out to join us. She was blinking rapidly and fingering her hair, much but not all of her composure gone. In its place I’d have expected to see relief, some visible sign of the liberation she should have felt. But instead there was more anxiety than when she’d gone in. As if testifying had added to her problems, not resolved them. As if she hadn’t said-or been allowed to say-what she really wanted to. And there was a furtiveness as well. She looked as if she wanted to run away and hide. From all of us.

She saw Bella first and shaped an uncertain smile. Then Sarah appeared at her elbow and led her towards us. I tried to think of something both meaningless and comforting to say. But, before I could, the usher beckoned to me. My turn had come. And there was time to exchange no more than a glance with Rowena as I went in. But a glance was enough. The mask had fallen now. Beneath it, there was despair.

The court had none of the Dickensian appurtenances I’d somehow imagined. Glass-topped partitions, pale wood panelling and discreet grey carpeting drained away the archaism of gown and wig. It was a place where divorce settlements and tax evasion could be discussed in a seemly atmosphere. Rape and murder surely weren’t topics that belonged in its antiseptic environment. Yet there was the judge, gorgeously robed. There was the coat of arms above his head. There, beneath him, were the lawyers and clerks in their orderly chaos of books and papers. And there, in the large glazed dock at the rear of the room, flanked by two prison officers, was the accused: Shaun Andrew Naylor.

I’d not seen him before, of course. And I hardly had the chance to study him now. A lean sallow-faced man with thick black hair leaning forward in his chair, as if straining to catch every word that was said. He looked up as I stepped into the witness-box and caught my eye for less than a second. I had the fleeting impression of someone bent on memorizing my features in every detail. Then I put the thought aside and took the oath.

The prosecuting counsel gave me an easy ride, as he was bound to. He let me present my well-rehearsed portrait of the relaxed and attractive woman I’d spoken to, briefly and inconsequentially, on Hergest Ridge. He encouraged me to specify the time at which we’d parted and to say how I could be so sure. And wisely he left it there.