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Ben was keen to discuss my suspicions of Catherine and Denise. Reluctant to dwell on my great aunt’s death, I regretted having shared my idle speculation with him.
‘It was an accident,’ I insisted. ‘We know that. There was an autopsy, and that’s what they concluded. It had nothing to do with Catherine or her sister.’
I could hardly admit that I had just been trying to sound fascinating when I had told him my theory that my great aunt had been murdered. But Ben refused to be satisfied.
‘No one else was there,’ he pointed out. ‘We can’t be sure it wasn’t murder.’
He grew quite animated and insisted we had to ‘warn the old bitches off’, as he put it. Now that we were both sober, I was keen to let the whole idea drop. Ben did his best to convince me that my own life might be in da
