‘Young or old?’

‘Oh, old, I’d say.’

‘This was a week ago, you say. You’ve been thinking about it. Is it all right to ask you how you want it to turn out-dead or alive, as it were?’ I’d picked up her book matches, pulled two out and was shredding them with my fingers, all without knowing it. She tapped my hand with two fingers that carried pricey-looking rings.

‘Stop fidgeting. Why are you doing that?’

‘I stopped smoking.’

‘You poor bastard. Why?’

‘To slow down the ageing process.’

‘You’re ageing all right, I’ve seen worse. Another drink?’

‘I’m watching that, too. No, thanks. What about it, Marion? Dead or alive?’

She finished her drink and pushed it aside as if my example had given her strength, but she didn’t have the skin of a boozer.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘I’d adjusted, got used to the idea. I’ll be frank. I suppose I hope it’s not true. John and I had been married for fifteen years. We weren’t love birds any more.’

‘Any children?’

She tapped another Kent out, another little reward or penance. ‘No.’

‘Would he have had any reason to fake a disappearance? You know, like that Pommy politician?’

‘Stonehouse,’ she said automatically. ‘Not that I can think of.’

‘Up till you got this call, what did you think had happened to him?’

‘He suicided, it was an accident or he was murdered. I just don’t know.’

‘What would you bet?’

‘I don’t know,’ she repeated. ‘Look, we weren’t all that close at the end. John had other women and I had other men. But we got along all right and the business was in good shape when I took it over. He could have had worries. He was a secretive man.’

‘It sounds as if you didn’t know a lot about him.’

‘Well, it was like that. John was an Englishman, came here after the war. I’m a Kiwi myself. I left New Zealand in 1950 and I’ve never been back. We both loved Sydney, Bondi particularly. No ties for either of us. We both worked at the business and played a lot of tennis and golf. We had a lovely boat. It was enough.’