‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ I asked her.

‘I’m still driving,’ she said.

‘You could leave your car here,’ I said. ‘I’m sure the pub won’t mind if you leave it in their car park. I could drop you back at the hospital and you could collect it in the morning.’

‘How about you?’ she said. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘I’m on diet Coke but I’ll have a small glass of red with my dinner,’ I said. ‘I do have to drive. Back to London tonight.’ I had rented the car for only two days.

‘Couldn’t you stay down here and go in the morning?’ she said.

‘Are you propositioning me now?’ I asked.

She blushed. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

Pity, I thought, again surprising myself.

I could always have called Hertz to keep the car for another day, but somehow I felt that I was betraying my Angela even to contemplate spending the night away from home, especially in order to have a lengthy dinner with another woman. I told myself not to be such a fool, but I felt it nevertheless.

‘How well did you know Millie?’ I asked, changing the subject and saving us both some embarrassment.

‘Pretty well,’ she said. ‘We worked together at the hospital for three years and lived in the house together for most of that time.’

‘Do you know why she killed herself?’ I asked.

‘No idea,’ she said. ‘She seemed pretty happy to me.’

‘Did she have money worries?’ I asked.

‘No,’ Eleanor replied emphatically. ‘In fact she always seemed rather well off. She bought a brand-new red Mazda sports car the year before she died and she always had lots of nice clothes. I think her father still sent her an allowance, even though we all earn pretty good money at the hospital.’

I thought back to my earlier encounter with the Barlow parents in their ill-fitting clothes. Did they seem the sort of people who could afford to send their high-earning daughter an allowance?

‘Was she pregnant?’ I said. It was only a wild thought.

‘I think it highly unlikely,’ said Eleanor. ‘She used to boast that she had a good supply of the morning-after pill just in case she forgot to take her other pills. She was medically trained, remember.’

‘And medics have a higher suicide rate than almost every other profession,’ I said.

‘Do they?’ She seemed surprised.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I had to research the rates last year for a case where a doctor was accused of assisting a suicide.’

‘I suppose medics have the knowledge of how to take their own lives,’ she said.

‘Painlessly, you mean,’ I said.

‘Absolutely. Just like putting an old dog to sleep,’ she said. ‘They also have easy access to the necessary drugs.’

‘Did Millie get on with her brother?’ I asked.

‘Well enough, I think,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think he was too happy with her reputation.’

‘Reputation?’ I asked.

‘For being the easiest ride in the village.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not really a reputation to cherish.’ Especially not in Lambourn, where riding was its lifeblood. ‘How many casual lovers would you say she had?’

‘At least half a dozen on the go at once,’ she said. ‘I think you could safely say that she wasn’t particularly discreet. Suffice to say she liked jockeys.’

‘Was Reno Clemens one of them?’ I asked.

‘Probably,’ she said. ‘I didn’t actually keep a list, but he was often around her. I sometimes saw them together in the pub.’

‘But you didn’t see him in her room?’ I said.

‘We have a sort of unwritten rule in the house,’ she said. ‘Long-term relationships are OK, but no casual partners to stay over. Needless to say, Millie broke it all the time. It was the only thing we argued about. But no, I can’t say I ever saw Reno there.’

‘How about Steve Mitchell?’ I asked. ‘Did he stay over?’

‘No never,’ she said. ‘Millie was always too keen to go to his place. She was always telling us about his hot tub.’ She lifted her eyebrows in disapproval.

‘Why exactly do you dislike Mitchell?’ I asked her.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘When I first came to Lambourn about ten years ago he was just starting as a jockey and we went out for a while. I thought he was serious but he wasn’t. He was two-timing me with some stable hand and, when the silly bitch got pregnant, he dumped me and married her.’ She paused. ‘I suppose she did me a favour really.’

‘How long did his marriage last?’ I asked.

‘About six years. They had two children and Steve became very successful. They built the Kremlin together.’

‘The Kremlin?’ I asked.

‘That’s what everyone calls that red-brick eyesore he now rattles around in on his own. When Natalie, his ex-wife, finally saw some sense and left him, he came back to my door and wanted to carry on as if nothing had happened. I told him to piss off and Steve didn’t like that. He likes to get his own way. I actually think he then made such a fuss over Millie to get back at me.’

So Steve’s affair with Millie Barlow hadn’t just been a fling as he had claimed, but had continued long after his wife had found out and left him. Mr and Mrs Barlow senior had been right, and Mitchell had indeed lied to me about it.

‘Didn’t Steve mind that she had other partners as well as him?’ I asked.

‘Mind? Are you kidding? According to Millie, Steve loved a threesome, or even more.’

‘Do you think she was telling the truth?’ I said.

‘You may have a point there. Millie was a good vet, very good in fact, but she was known to exaggerate things a tad.’

‘Do you remember a photo of her and a horse in a silver frame?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘Her prized possession.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘It was a picture of her with a new-born foal,’ she said.

‘But why was it so special?’

‘It was the first foal she had ever delivered on her own, just after she arrived in Lambourn,’ she said. ‘Bit of an emergency in the middle of the night. She was the only vet on duty. But she did OK, apparently. I was away.’

I was disappointed. I thought it would be more interesting than that.

‘Why are you interested in the photo?’ she asked me.

‘Because someone took it from Scot Barlow’s house,’ I said.

‘What, when he was murdered?’

‘That I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But it is missing now.’

‘Perhaps it was for the silver frame,’ she said.

‘No. Whoever took the photo left the frame. That’s how I know the photo’s gone.’

‘Well, I can tell you that it was of Millie and a foal that was lying in the straw, with the mare and a stud groom behind.’

‘Do you know who the stud groom was?’ I asked. ‘Or who took the photo?’

‘No idea,’ she said. ‘But I know which foal it was. That’s why it was Millie’s prize possession.’

‘Go on,’ I encouraged her as she paused.

‘Peninsula,’ Eleanor said with a flourish.

Was that the reason why Millie Barlow was at Simon Dacey’s party? Or was that just a coincidence? But, I didn’t like coincidences.