Sophie tickled the back of her neck, sending shivers of pleasure down Lindsay’s spine. “The darkest hour is just before the dawn,” she consoled. “Come on, let’s go to bed. Maybe sleeping on it will help to clarify your thoughts.”

Lindsay grinned. “Personally, I’ve always found that vigorous physical activity is a great mental catalyst.”

“So go out for a jog!”

16

It was loathe at first sight. Lindsay hadn’t been in Harry Campbell’s company for five minutes before she knew for certain they would never be friends. When she arrived at Rosalind’s flat, he was sitting at the kitchen table, nervously drumming his fingers while Rosalind waited on him. As Lindsay entered, he half-rose from his chair and offered her his hand.

“Lindsay? I’m glad to meet you. Rosalind has told me so much about you. I understand we’re deeply indebted to you for all your hard work in tracking down our burglar. Well, let me say now, we won’t forget what we owe you. Coffee? Orange juice? Rosalind, see to our guest, will you?” he smarmed.

Lindsay shook the warm, soft palm he held out, and before Rosalind could do anything, she helped herself to orange juice and coffee. Being with her big brother might reduce Rosalind to the level of obedient schoolgirl, but Lindsay didn’t want to be part of it. She sat down and appraised Harry Campbell. Leaving aside the possibility that he was Alison’s “political hot potato,” if he was going to be by her side on the showdown with Alex McNaught, she wanted to know exactly what she was getting into.

He was in his late thirties, though he looked younger. His pepper and salt hair was neatly barbered, as was the still-dark mustache, which Lindsay guessed was there to hide the weakness of his thin mouth. His eyes were dark blue rather than violet like Ros’s, but they had the disconcerting habit of sliding away from direct contact. He was, she supposed, fairly handsome in an almost feminine way. But there was nothing arch or camp in his manner or his dress. He wore a crisp white shirt with a tweed tie, and tweed trousers. The matching suit jacket was slung over the back of the kitchen chair on which he sat. If he hadn’t been a politician, he might have been deputy headmaster at a country primary school. He wasn’t a natural number one, Lindsay decided almost immediately.

Before he could launch into his party political broadcast, Lindsay turned to Rosalind and commented on her success in restoring the flat to its previous state of neatness.

“Helen helped me,” Rosalind said. “I don’t know what I’d have done without her. Actually, once we’d cleared up the mess, it didn’t take too long.”