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Olly resents it when people state the obvious. It implies he’s a stupid man, when he’s anything but, and nothing makes him madder than people insinuating that he’s an idiot. His molars grate against one another before he says, ‘Well, fire away then!’ He adjusts his position, throwing an arm across the back of the sofa he’s sitting on, balancing an ankle on his knee so that he looks more open and helpful. The twitch in his eye is still there. He hopes they can’t see it.
‘Where were you the night before Tom died and the morning of his death?’
The answer trips off Olly’s tongue. ‘Sasha and I spent the evening together here. She was watching TV and working on her website, I believe, and I was working on my novel.’
‘Was your housekeeper with you?’
‘Kitty lives in the Coach House, which is on the estate. She usually leaves us after clearing up supper, so I’d say she was probably back there by eight-thirtyish.’
‘Do you know for certain she went back to the Coach House?’
‘No. I suppose I don’t. I only know that she left here in the evening and turned up again the next morning. Will this take long, detective? I have work to do.’
‘You’re a writer?’ Steen asks.
‘I am.’
‘Are you published? Would I know your work?’
‘This will be my debut novel,’ Olly says. ‘But I hope you’ll be hearing a lot about me as soon as it’s published.’
He smiles, anticipating the usual reaction he gets, some sign that he’s impressed his listener, perhaps some interested questions, but Steen doesn’t smile back, only clears his throat. The sound is ugly to Olly, unpleasantly guttural, and the lack of any curiosity or respect from Steen irks him.
‘Were you and Sasha together all evening?’ Steen asks.
Olly laughs. ‘No! We were in separate rooms for a few hours. I can’t work with the television blaring. I need silence to work. Absolute silence.’
He pauses to let this sink in, the importance of what he does, the conditions required to excel, a hint of what their intrusion means to him, the sacrifice it entails.
‘I expect you get the silence you need here, don’t you?’ Steen asks, glancing through the window towards the orchard.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘You’re not disturbed by your wife’s yoga classes?’
‘No. And she’s my partner, not my wife. Thankfully the Manor is big enough to accommodate us both,’ Olly says.
‘When did you move in?’
‘Five years ago.’
‘You and your partner bought this place?’
‘To cut a long and rather lovely story short, we were invited to live here, by the owner.’
‘Really? Is the owner a relation?’
‘A good friend.’
‘Name?’
‘Anna Creed.’
‘Does she live here still?’
Olly works hard to keep himself relaxed.
‘No. Not in the Manor. It’s complicated. She lives elsewhere.’
