‘If you tell me what it is that you want, I will give her a message.’

He raises his voice. ‘What I want is for her to answer the letters from my solicitor. What I want is compensation. What I want is for her to understand that she can’t get away with this.’

‘I will be sure to give Tess your messages when she comes back, but that won’t be until this evening.’

He has no place to put his anger.

‘May I ask why you didn’t knock on the front door? That’s what visitors usually do.’

He stares at her. ‘They don’t. Everyone comes round the back. Delivery people, tradesmen. I’ve been watching.’

‘I suppose you’re right, but I would be grateful if you would leave now, because I have to go out.’

He wags his finger at her.

Left-handed. She looks at his feet. Definitely. The shoelaces give it away.

‘Just be sure you tell her, or I will be back.’

At this point Georgia is sure he is angry, not drunk.

‘I’m going to Chicago tomorrow and I want this all sorted by the time I get back to Edinburgh in a month’s time. I’m getting married, and I want my money.’ And he turns back to the open scullery door, and leaves.

She lifts the plastic sheet off a chair and sits down. After a couple of minutes she takes out her diary and writes it all down. Left-handed, mole, fingernails, ring. Just as she is finishing, the plasterer arrives.

‘I’m back!’

‘So I see.’

‘OK if I have a brew before I start?’ He turns on the scullery tap to fill the kettle without waiting for an answer.

‘Of course.’ She looks at him. ‘Just stand there for a moment, would you?’

He frowns. ‘Sure. Is there a problem?’

‘Not at all, I just want to check something. Stand on the first step there for me.’

He moves towards the kitchen and stands in the doorway, as requested. She moves back to her earlier position in the room and eyeballs his height against the top of the door hinge.

‘How tall are you?’

He looks puzzled. ‘Five foot ten. One metre seventy-eight and a bit, according to my GP. I was there yesterday and she said I could do with losing a few pounds.’ He pats his tummy. ‘So I probably shouldn’t be eating your biscuits, Miss Williams.’

‘Taller than that, so he must be about six feet then,’ she mutters, and writes it down. ‘I don’t suppose one biscuit is going to hurt you, but I’ll stop leaving temptation in your way.’

‘Is everything alright?’