I swallow.
‘I don’t know what’s going on either.’ I stare at the giant rainwater pool, rippling in the wind. ‘Her health is fine – she got the all-clear. But I think something’s going on at the moment. Something bad, that she won’t talk to me about. I also think it’s something you might know about. That’s why I got in touch. I’m sorry I misrepresented myself to you. I . . .’ I take a long breath. ‘I’m worried. About her, about us, about whatever it is you won’t tell me. But I know that doesn’t excuse me sneaking around like a scumbag reporter from a scumbag newspaper.’
Rosen is watching me, fascinated. He wasn’t expecting this at all.
‘Why are you here asking me questions?’ he asks. ‘Why aren’t you asking her? Did you two split up?’
I shake my head. ‘No. And I have asked her, but she keeps deflecting me. Everything’s fine, apparently.’
‘But why don’t you believe her? If she’s told you everything’s fine?’
I explain to him that in the process of writing Emma’s stock I’ve stumbled across some very confusing documents. ‘They were all concerning things that pre-dated us, though,’ I say. ‘But her sacking Mags Tenterden – that’s news to me. It’s happened while we were together, and she’s lied about it.’
‘Well, I mean, I could have got it wrong,’ Rosen begins, but then trails off. ‘No. I didn’t get it wrong, I’m sorry. Emma definitely sacked Mags.’
I beg him not to tell Emma I visited him. ‘Not until I get a better handle on what’s going on. I just need to . . . I just need to establish that she’s not actually in some sort of trouble.’
Rosen looks anxious. ‘Look, can I ask why you emailed me, not one of her close friends?’
‘Because Emma and her close friends are as thick as thieves, and I thought they’d go straight to Emma and tell her I’m digging around. And I didn’t want to upset her with the news that I’ve been writing her obit when she’s only just got the all-clear.’
Rosen thinks about this for a while. Then: ‘Are you genuinely worried about her?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘OK,’ he says, slowly. ‘OK. Listen – my loyalty’s always going to be to Emma, but I’ve had my concerns about what was going on back then. If she was in some sort of trouble I’d never forgive myself for covering it up. Especially if it’s kicking off again.’
Especially if what’s kicking off again?
‘She had a visitor, one time. When we were filming in Northumberland, for the second series. I was up until the wee hours every night, photocopying shooting scripts and – well, on our last night I saw her talking to a man in the hotel bar. Late, when she thought we’d all gone to bed. And I saw them in a cafe in London a few weeks later. Near Broadcasting House.’
I sink my hands in my pocket. My fingers are shaking. ‘Do you know who the man was?’
There’s a long silence.
Then: ‘Jeremy Rothschild,’ he says quietly. ‘You know? The broadcaster?’
Recent memories replay at a screaming speed, while everything else becomes slow and silvered. A taxi pulls up at the edge of the road and my phone starts ringing.
He must be wrong. Emma has never met Rothschild. She speaks about him the same way she’d speak about Justin Webb or Mishal Husain, the other Today presenters – she enjoys him slaughtering politicians, doesn’t rate his wife as an actress and that’s that. Unless – ? No. No.
I stare at the wet tarmac beneath my feet, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.
‘The only reason I’m telling you,’ he says, ‘is that she was always upset after his visits. Like, exhausted, blotchy face, as if she hadn’t slept all night. I don’t know what they were talking about, but it worried me. Especially the time I saw them in that cafe in London; Rothschild looked quite angry. Emma had only just found out she had cancer; she had a lot on her plate. I was concerned.’