“Presumably. Either way, they’ll announce it tomorrow, at the press conference… We can see if Lindsay knows anything later. I’ve left word. She must still be out with Markov. They were supposed to be at the Grand Vefour, but they must have changed the reservation. It’s conceivable Lindsay hasn’t even heard yet. Anyway”—he turned back as Gini picked up her coat—“shall we try your Chantal? It’s possible Star could be there, I suppose. Mina too. The rue St. Séverin, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s close to the St. Séverin church. In the Latin Quarter. About fifteen minutes from here.” Gini glanced at her watch. “It’s eleven-fifteen now, Rowland.”

“I know. Late to be making a call.” He shrugged. “It gives us the advantage of surprise anyway.”

“It’ll probably be another false lead. This man Star seems to have a gift for disappearing.”

Gini stopped. She had reached Rowland’s side; they were both now standing in the doorway; she watched him undo the bolt, and she had a sudden hopeless sense that she could not keep up this pretense.

She wondered if Rowland also felt this; he gave no sign of it. He was about to open the door, but turned to look at her. She could see strain in his face then; she saw his eyes rest on her mouth. He hesitated. “I want to kiss you again,” he said. “I suppose you realize that?”

“Rowland—don’t. We have to stop this. We have to stop it now. You said—”

“I know what I said.” He hesitated again, then slowly lifted his hand, rested it against the nape of her neck. “Just tell me one thing—before we go.” He frowned. “Your hair—you cut it yourself? When? Why did you do that?”

“It was when I came back from Sarajevo. I don’t know why exactly.” Gini paused; he did not prompt her, but waited for an answer just as he had that afternoon in the drive outside Max’s house. “I was unhappy. I wanted to change myself. So I took the easy way out, the woman’s way out. I changed my appearance instead. I just hacked it off with some nail scissors. My hair was long before. Why?” She raised her eyes to his. “Does it look horrible?”

“No. It does not. It makes you look—I like it. I noticed it when we were in England, driving back from meeting Mitchell, and… it’s not important. We should go.”

It was important, of course. Gini knew that, and she knew Rowland knew too.

“I like you, Rowland,” she said as he was about to open the door. “I want you to know that.”

“Why?”

“You’re astute. Very quick. I like you for the things you don’t say.”

“And your silence was the first thing I liked about you…” There was a pause, then he took her arm, and his tone altered. “We should hurry. The rue St. Séverin. We should have been there two hours ago. What happened to those two hours?”

“There was a hitch in the story. A kink in the plot line. We neglected our work,” she replied as they stepped into the elevator. “Press ground, Rowland.”