But before he could finish, Michelle buzzed him in, and he made his way up to her door. She was already standing there, looking concerned, and she came forward to help him toward the sofa. Not that it was necessary, but he thought it was a nice gesture.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Someone jumped me. Thank God for dog walkers or I’d probably be in the river by now. Funny, isn’t it? I thought I was going to end up in the Nene all those years ago and I almost ended up there tonight.”

“You’re rambling,” Michelle said. “Sit down.”

Banks still felt a bit dizzy and nauseated when he sat down. “Just give me a few minutes,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

Michelle handed him a glass. “Drink,” she said.

He drank. Cognac. A good one, too. As the fiery liquor spread through his limbs he started to feel even better. His mind came into sharper focus, and he was able to assess the damage. Not much, really. His ribs felt tender, but he didn’t feel as if anything was broken. He looked up and saw Michelle standing over him.

“How do you feel now?”

“Much better, thank you.” Banks sipped some more Cognac. “Look,” he said, “I’d better call a taxi. I don’t feel very much like driving in this condition, especially not after this.” He held up the glass. Michelle tipped in more from the Courvoisier VSOP bottle, and poured herself a generous measure, too.

“Okay,” she said. “But you must let me see to your nose first.”

“Nose?” Banks realized his nose and upper lip felt numb. He put his hand up, and it came away bloody.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Michelle said, leading him toward the bathroom, “but I’d better clean you up and put something on it before you go. There’s a small cut on your lip, too. Whoever hit you must have been wearing a ring or something.”

The bathroom was small, almost too small for two people to stand without touching. Banks stood with the backs of his legs against the toilet bowl as Michelle used a damp facecloth to wipe away the blood, then looked in the cabinet and came up with some TCP liquid antiseptic. She put a small swab of cotton wool over the top of the bottle and tipped it up, then carefully applied it to his lip. It stung, and the acrid smell made him gasp. Michelle took the cotton wool away.

“It’s all right,” he said.

She dropped one bloodstained swab into the waste bin and prepared another. Banks watched her face close to his, the look of concentration as she applied the cotton wool, tip of her tongue nipped between her teeth. She caught his eye, blushed and looked away. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her body, smell the Cognac on her breath.

“Go on,” she said. “You were going to say something.”

“It’s just like Chinatown,” Banks said.