“An hour after she died? I cannot believe this, Markov. He loved her. I’m sure he loved her. You’re sure he loved her. She was the one thing he cared about—”

“Oh, true.” Markov braked at a tight corner, then accelerated again. “If you’d seen them at the airport, Lindy—I told you. Like my hair is standing on end, I’ve got goose pimples the length of my spine, because any second Lazare’s going to spot me, and then I’m history, because this guy, I mean—he makes me think about crucifixes, Lindy. About stringing garlic around my neck and praying hard. I mean, all the time I’m standing there, quaking behind this palm, I’m thinking, oh, no, it’s after nightfall and before dawn…”

“Come on, Markov, stop exaggerating. Lazare looks fit, active, tanned.”

“Not Friday night, he didn’t. White, Lindy—his face was white. He had a desperate kind of thirsty look. Definitely but definitely one of the children of the damned. And then, when she started in on children, babies…”

“You’re sure she said that, Markov? You couldn’t have misheard?”

“I speak French, Lindy. I know the French for baby. And child. And son. And she kept repeating it, over and over—I want my baby back, I want my son—and he was desperate to shut her up, calm her down…” Markov hesitated. His voice became quiet. “He kissed her, Lindy.”

“You didn’t mention that before.”

“I know. It felt a bit blasphemous—discussing it. I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have seen it. I felt excited—and then I felt cheap for getting excited.”

“It didn’t stop you phoning me, I notice.”

“I know. Sainthood eludes me. But if you’d seen the way he kissed her.” Markov hesitated again. “It was to stop her talking, partly. But not just that. You could see—he wanted her, and he loved her. He looked like he’d die for her, or he thought she was dying, maybe, I’m not sure.”

“Markov, you can’t know that…” Lindsay began as they rounded a corner and the lights of the St. Vincent came in sight. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“No. I’m not.” Markov stopped the car. He turned to her and removed his dark glasses. Lindsay was allowed to read the expression in his eyes.

Ashamed, knowing she had been misled by his tone, Lindsay took his hand. Markov gave a wry smile.

“I just knew, okay?” he said. “I recognized that country. I speak its language. I was there myself, just over two years ago. It’s not a language you forget.”

“No. You don’t,” replied Lindsay, who had circumnavigated similar territory herself. She leaned across and kissed Markov good night.

“Watch out for McGuire. Watch what you say to him,” he called as she stepped out of his car. “I’ll see you at Chanel tomorrow afternoon.”

In the still-crowded lobby, Lindsay hesitated. She wanted to tell Rowland this, and she wanted to see Rowland very much, but it was now nearly two in the morning. She stared at the telephone booths, and in the end dialed his extension; he picked up on the second ring.