‘You missed your appointment.’ Edward sat back in his chair, fingertips pressed together, enquiring, but less than encouraging.

‘You sound like a headmaster,’ Camilla said, trying to make light of the situation. ‘See me in my office after prayers, and all that.’

‘As I understand it, you want me to repair your face, otherwise your present career will be finished.’ He leaned across the desk, unsmiling. ‘Now, I am very serious about this. I’m prepared to use my time and my skill to get you the best possible result. But it seems that you don’t feel the same way about what we’re trying to do.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, things are going to prove more tricky now. It’s more than two weeks since I saw you last, and you’ve come back with a new problem.’ He held out a magnifying mirror so that she could see the area for herself. ‘The wound was healing well, and it was certainly clean last time I looked. But now the cut has opened, your forehead is swollen and bruised, and you have an infection.’

‘I put antiseptic cream on it. And dressings.’

‘This is your face. We’re not playing at first aid here.’

‘I thought it would clear up.’

He ignored her interruption with an impatient gesture. ‘I wish you had rung me right away. I could have attended to this before harm was done. It would have made life much easier for both of us.’

‘I didn’t realise—’

‘The damage is in the worst possible place, where the opening curves downwards. You need antibiotics, and I’ll have to repair the whole thing. I can fit you in before my main operating list in the morning. If you’re sure you’ll keep the appointment.’

‘I will.’

‘May I ask how this happened?’

Camilla shrugged, avoiding his eyes, looking out into the grey street beyond the window. ‘I tripped and knocked against something. Then I went down to the country with my mother.’

‘How is your mother?’ He was sure that there was a significant reason behind her disappearance and now he wondered if Marina might provide a clue.

‘The same. Is there another topic of conversation we could try?’ She wanted sympathy, a suggestion of the warmth she had seen in him at their last meeting. Instead he was concerned only about Marina. She needed someone to care about how she felt herself.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought your mother didn’t look well.’

‘Marina’s dying.’ It was the first time she had said the words aloud, made them into a bald fact in her mind. She was ready to vomit her fear and confusion all over his pale carpet and his Persian rugs.