non-people whom she could call into being for a moment if these men tried to harm her?
'Mrs Maisie Cooper?' She literally gasped with relief and then felt immediately angry. Rather than speak she pulled a face at the man who spoke, a rather handsome dark-haired man. Her expression said, Don't scare me like that.
'I'm sorry,' he responded to it at once, 'I didn't mean to startle you. I wasn't sure it was you.' He smiled and she found herself smiling back, all fear suddenly gone.
In the kitchen she sorted through her purchases and found fresh coffee and cream. Each day she tried to find something for Lisa, something to welcome her back from her day in the City and to say thank you for letting me stay like this, rent-free and in an open-ended timeframe. Yesterday it was a video of The Pillow Book, today finest Mocha for the dusty cafetière she had found under the sink. She opened the packet without remorse. Lisa would understand.
'You are here about the murder?' She found a tray, pink plastic, but useful in preventing too many trips, avoiding their visit turning into a sort of party, her into a hostess.
'Yes, that's right,' the dark-haired one – Jarvin – said. Maisie wondered what his first name was. 'You were in St Ives at the time, I believe?'
She answered honestly and clearly the questions that Jarvin put, his silent companion recording her words, but she added nothing extra. It was not until he asked the purpose of her visit that she reacted.
'I was there with my husband. Keeping him company.'
'But you are not with your husband any longer?' Jarvin's soft green eyes did not leave hers and she realised that they must match her own. The dark eyes of Inspector Allen flicked between them and she wondered if he had noticed this rare symmetry too.
'No. We split up, just the other day. We are living apart now.' Again it was a simple answer, so she was astonished to find her eyes filled with tears as she said it. 'Shit. Where did these come from?' She said it out loud and actually smiled as she spoke, laughing as she felt her cheeks suddenly sensitive to the morning air from the open window, and getting up she ran for some kitchen roll. 'Sorry.'
'It's perfectly all right.' Jarvin was clearly a man at ease with tears.
Wreathed in floral-patterned towelette, she returned. 'I didn't expect that,' she said. 'I guess I've been saying "I'm married" for so long, it feels odd to say something else.' She dabbed efficiently at her eyes.
'Yes, that must be very hard.' She heard in his voice the sound of understanding and smiled at him. He smiled too. Even Allen was smiling. Suddenly she wanted to laugh out loud. The human species seemed suddenly ridiculous somehow.
'You mentioned parting from your husband. Did that happen after the party at Steven Weston's house, on Monday of this week?' Jarvin was consulting the notepad that had magically appeared in his hand.
'Yes . . . Well, sort of. I mean, we had a huge row after the party. He attacked another man there . . . But of course we had been on the verge of splitting up for months. I had left him before: last October. I went to my mother's for three weeks, but then we got back together again, mostly because of my mother's plotting. She doesn't believe in divorce.' She smiled again, but the tears were still making her eyes shine. 'She arranged for Jeff to drop round when she happened to be out and we had another try at things. I think he hoped Cornwall might be some sort of answer. But it was the opposite. A hotel room is a terribly intimate place to be with someone who you know you are going to leave. It is like taking poison, you can feel your insides boiling and your strength just sapping away . . .'
She stopped and looked at the two men in front of her as if they were dressed as rabbits. 'Jesus what am I on about? Sorry. Do all the people you interview start telling you everything like this? You must be very successful if they do.'
Jarvin's smile thickened. 'It can help to talk things through, I think. And I did ask about your husband. I wonder if you remember the party very well . . . and the break-up.'
'You mean "the incident"?'
'I'm not sure . . .'
'Me and Harvey