Rowland, amused, returned her smile. He wondered what it was that had occurred at Christmas. He had caught the pain in her voice as she said the word, though she attempted to disguise it.

“She’s right, of course. I have been selfish, and self-indulgent. I’m going to reform.” She was beginning to speak more quickly now, still keeping her face averted. “So, I did want to say, I should be working, I realize that now. When I got back from Bosnia I couldn’t write. I turned down several stories.”

“Did you? Yes, I think Max might have mentioned that.”

“But when we were talking to Mitchell earlier, when I went up to that barn… I could feel the story taking hold. I’d forgotten how that could feel, that sense of purpose and drive. But now—I would like to find Star. I’d like to find Mina, above all. So if I could help in any way—if you or Max wanted someone to talk to Cassandra and Mina’s friends, perhaps—I could do that I’d like to do that. It’s—I am here, after all…”

Her suggestion faltered away. Rowland realized that as she made it, she lost confidence. She expected him to demur, or refuse. Something, he thought, or someone, had damaged her confidence very badly.

“Why does it interest you so much?” he asked.

“Because of Mina.” She let her hair fall forward, obscuring her face. “I used to know a girl like her.”

“You did? And was she equally unwise?”

“Possibly. But she was luckier.”

She shivered, then seemed to realize for the first time that the car was no longer moving.

“Anyway—we should get back. Why did you stop?”

“Because I wanted to tell you why you were here this weekend. It wasn’t an act of charity. You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” She turned to look at him.

“Yes. You’re here because I asked Max to invite you. I persuaded him to set up this weekend. I wanted to meet you. And I wanted you to work for me.”

“You did?” She colored. “I don’t understand. Why couldn’t you ask me in the usual way? Why all this subterfuge? Oh, I see…” Understanding suddenly flooded her face. “You thought I’d refuse? Or you thought Lindsay might have prejudiced me against you.”

“That did cross my mind.”

“But it’s not just that?” She looked at him closely. “It’s something more. You wanted to assess me—to see if I came up to scratch—this neurotic woman who was being such a bore.”

“I wouldn’t put it in those terms. You’d been covering a war—a particularly ugly war. Obviously that had affected you. I’d think less of you had it not affected you. But I had to be sure.”

“You don’t have to be tactful. I don’t particularly like tact. You don’t seem to be a very tactful man. I’d rather you were straight with me.” She paused. “Oh, I see. I begin to see. There’s a connection, isn’t there, between your story and this one—a connection you hadn’t foreseen? It’s something to do with drugs, with White Doves, with Amsterdam. That’s why you and Max reacted that way earlier.”