‘What do you mean she was killed?’ Amy said nothing, just nodded. She grasped her shoulder bag closer, as if for reassurance or protection. ‘And because of what she knew? I just don’t get it.’ He looked around; he had not realised his voice had got louder. ‘I don’t get it,’ he said, quieter this time. ‘It’s true, I swear,’ she said. ‘It’s not the sort of thing I would make up.’ Tom gently put his hand on her arm and guided her to resume walking. Now they were on the West Carriage Drive, a bridge which separates the Serpentine from the Long Water. ‘I’m sorry’, he said. ‘Of course I’m not saying you’re making it up. But - but I just don’t understand. The firm the two of you work - worked - for is something to do with market research, isn’t that right?’ Amy nodded. Tom paused a moment, and then continued, ‘Isn’t that just asking people what type of pet food their moggy likes, or their favourite brand of breakfast cereal?’ She laughed.
