It was possibly . . . probably . . . definitely time she had that chair sent from Overflow, where Nancy had stored it. The chair that had once given her freedom, might be . . . was . . . the only way she could be free again now, with William to help her into it, just as Michael and Nancy and Moira had done in the past.

‘The soup smells incredible,’ called William cheerfully as there was a sharp knock on the door. He moved to answer it.

‘May I see Scarlett?’

Scarlett stiffened at the familiar voice.

‘I’ll see.’ William suddenly sounded like the police constable he had so recently been, getting ready to ease a drunk away from vomiting on the Town Hall steps. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

‘It’s okay, William, it’s just Alex. Let him in.’ Scarlett managed to haul herself up on her pillows. She’d said she hadn’t wanted visitors while she was still infectious, though the true reason was she had not wanted to advertise her weakness. Once she’d have worried about her hair, her lipstick, eyebrow pencil. But that seemed years ago now, even if it was only just over a month.

‘Good to meet you, Alex. I’m William.’ Scarlett imagined the big dark hand enveloping Alex’s, making it entirely clear who was the dominant male here. ‘I’ll finish getting lunch. Will you stay? It’s yellow soup.’

Scarlett smiled. Thus making it clear that William was resident here, with kitchen and guest-invitation rights.

‘Yes, please.’ Alex sounded surprised. But people often were startled after meeting William. He had regained the confidence he’d lost earlier that year. The certainty that had made him a most excellent police officer, apart from the one — and admittedly major — lapse, had returned.

‘Scarlett! You look terrible.’

‘How kind of you to say so. Hello, Alex, how are you?’

‘How are you is the real question. You’ve lost weight. Far too much weight.’

She didn’t waste energy shrugging. ‘My glands are down, but the weakness has returned.’

He sat on the chair by the bed. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. You think I’m lying here for the fun of it?’

‘No,’ he said patiently. ‘I meant are you sure it’s the same problem you had before, and not residual weakness from the virus? That can take months to clear, as you well know. If it robs the average person of, say, fifty per cent of their energy . . .’

‘Then fifty per cent of mine leaves me lying in bed?’

‘Yes. And stop glaring at me. That also means that in a couple of months’ time you will recover.’

‘But I can’t know that —’

‘I think you can.’ He spoke confidently now. One day Alex Romanov was going to make a very good doctor. ‘There was no diagnosed reason for your weakness before. You slowly got stronger with rehabilitation and exercise. It’s extremely unlikely then that a virus has triggered anything permanent again — if it had, Dr Tham would have picked it up. Or you would have.’