‘And now Moss has work,’ she says, winking at me and pinching my cheek. ‘Thanks to this one.’

I yelp as the blood flows into it like a blush.

‘So now, Mr Westwood, I’ll take this box as you’ve explained it so well. You have something for me to carry it in?’

David wraps it up carefully and puts it into a brown paper bag.

Once Dinah has paid, she brandishes the bag in front of my face. ‘You see? He’s open, so I bought something. That’s how it works. Maybe if you were open, I’d buy something from you, too.’ The rain is dripping from the brim of her hat and she’s very wet.

‘Where exactly are you off to in this weather?’ I ask curiously.

She looks surprised. ‘I came to see you, because you and Moss, you’re in business now.’ She pulls me towards her and says in my ear, ‘You won’t regret it. I’m telling you, my dear, it’s a good decision. I promise you, you’ll get your reward.’

And there it is again: no good deed ever goes unpunished is an obvious lie.

Dinah tucks the parcel under her arm, opens her umbrella and steps back out into the rain.

I watch her splash along the cobbles, slender legs and red shoes under the red umbrella. I’m disturbed by her promise, because the reward’s not my motivation. I don’t want her to think it is.

‘She’s a character, isn’t she?’ David says, breaking into my thoughts. ‘Is she German?’

‘I think so.’

‘How do you know her?’

I tuck my hands in my damp pockets. ‘That day you and I first met, and you grabbed my case as I dashed onto the bus, I was giving her back the money she’d just dropped.’

‘Really?’

His gaze seeks mine and our eyes lock meaningfully. His don’t look so blue now; they look deep and black as the night sky.

He says, ‘The three of us were aligned on that day. Do you realise, Fern, if it wasn’t for that …’

I hold my breath and finish the sentence in my mind – we’d never have met.

But he carries on cheerfully, ‘I’d be warm and dry in the Market Hall right now.’

KIM

It’s raining. I’ve got the lights on. Enid kept me on the straight and narrow for sixty years, and now that she’s gone and I’m home all alone, I think about her clothes all the time. When I try them on they feel as cool and gentle as her touch. I can’t concentrate on anything else. They’re a guilty obsession. They’re all I can think of. I’ll be glad when Cato Hamilton takes them away.