The grumpy porter looked up and grunted. Then he focused on Robbie, looking disgruntled. There was, undeniably, quite the whiff.

“I brought you this,” said Cormac. “I just had too many.”

And he handed over a bag of fresh pain au raisins. Being able to go out and buy pretty much whatever you liked whenever you felt like it remained quite the novelty to Cormac, and he was enjoying it.

“Try them,” he said. “I think they’re French. They’ve got custard in them!”

The man sniffed, then without another word took the bag off Cormac, who quickly shuffled Robbie inside.

CORMAC BUNDLED ROBBIE into the showers with a fresh towel, some of his clothes, and instructions to stay in as long as he wanted; the hot water was limitless, even if the tiles were cracked.

Kim-Ange caught him at the basement laundry door and stood there, arms folded. “Who’s that in the shower?”

“A . . . friend,” said Cormac.

Kim-Ange beamed. “A lover?”

“No!”

She frowned at him and he realized he’d gotten it wrong again. London was teaching him a lot.

“I mean, that would be obviously fine, aye . . .”

Kim-Ange nodded more appreciatively. “But it isn’t . . .”

“Not on this occasion, no,” said Cormac, feeling increasingly stupid.

“Okay then,” said Kim-Ange. “So he’s a friend of yours?”

Cormac explained. Kim-Ange raised her eyebrows.

“You’ve let a homeless guy into a nurses’ home?”

“I thought you were meant to be the tolerant one.”

“Well, have you left your wallet in your bedroom?”

Cormac had, of course. He turned around, then turned back. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Yes, all right, country bumpkin,” said Kim-Ange.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Cormac, as she followed him back upstairs.

THE ROOM WAS empty, the shower too. Cormac called out Robbie’s name, but there was no response at all; he’d done a runner, taking Cormac’s clean clothes but leaving his dirty ones behind. They were, truly, only fit for the bin.

Cormac looked around for his phone, but it was in his pocket—there was a new message from Lissa, something about Lennox looking for harvesters. Well, he was hardly going to manage that, was he? He scrabbled around the room, trying not to let Kim-Ange see that he was worried or reveal the huge relief he felt when he saw his wallet, untouched, on the desk, and his watch next to it, likewise, and he felt both instantly guilty and dreadfully sorry for Robbie running away. He sat down on the bed, defeated. Kim-Ange made a decision.

“Come for a walk with me,” said Kim-Ange. She was wearing a bright gold sleeveless jacket with fur trim over her wide back, tight black leggings, and high-heeled gold Timberlands, with gold eye shadow to match. It was a little alarming to the uninitiated.

“What time is it?” said Cormac.

“Going-for-a-walk time,” said Kim-Ange.