‘I’ll buy you a drink,’ I said.

‘Just one?’ she said, and pushed me out the door.

Running down the stairs, I felt guilty about being less than honest with Alice. At least, I thought it was guilt, and I thought it was about Alice. But standing outside on the street, I shivered, though I wasn’t cold. I told myself that whatever happened, things were about to get interesting, and that that was good.

And then I thought about the Chinese curse. And started walking. And tried to stop thinking for a while.

4

I headed in the direction of my office. I needed to check my diary for the upcoming week and do enough to clear Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday. After what I’d heard from Alice, I intended keeping a close eye on Jeremy Gill while he was in town. And I wanted to arrange another meeting with Sean Carney, and to meet his wife Ann.

There was no time to waste, but I did anyway. Crossing Patrick Street, I cut down Marlboro Street as far as Liam Russell’s bookshop and circled back on to Princes Street. I thought about the mix of optimism and bravery and foolishness that had led people to settle and build and trade in this damp place. I thought about how, every so often, the water rose fast from the marsh beneath the streets and, just as fast, drained away leaving ruin in its wake. And I thought about the city’s narrow escape overnight, about how it was luck, and nothing else, that had saved it.

I swung past the grand cast-iron gates, and into the English Market, busy already, though it was not yet ten, with the usual weekend foodie crowd stocking up on provisions for their Saturday night dinner parties. Taking a left at the fountain, I passed the wooden steps to the Farmgate restaurant on the balcony, went through the arch, and got an Americano with milk from Mary Rose.