“I’m going to finish the job that Claire paid me to do,” Lindsay said. “My personal feelings don’t enter into it. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to see Jim Carstairs with a printout of that file, Anisha’s letter, and a set of Cordelia’s prints. Then I’m going to report to my employer that I have completed my assignment. Do you have a problem with that?” she asked belligerently.

Sophie shook her head. She was desperate now to break Lindsay’s calm to force her to release the emotions that were tormenting her. She struggled to find the words that would do the trick. “No, I don’t,” she said emphatically. “And frankly, I don’t give a shit what happens to Cordelia. But I do care very much about you. And I won’t sit quietly by while you go through this pointless self-flagellation. You’ve done nothing wrong. Cordelia’s the one who’s done wrong. So stop blaming yourself. By all means, let out your feelings of hurt and anger and disappointment. But stop behaving like you’re the one person in the universe who has to carry the can. Blame Cordelia as much as you like, but don’t blame yourself.”

Lindsay stopped pacing as Sophie’s words hit home. Then, like an animal in pain, she let out a roar of anguish and fell to her knees, sobbing like a child. Sophie leapt up from the sofa and cradled Lindsay in her arms till exhaustion finally stilled her tears.

At last, Sophie said, “Let’s go to bed, Lindsay. Today’s gone on long enough.”

Lindsay got to her feet and allowed herself to be led through to the bedroom, where Sophie quickly undressed her and put her to bed with a hot water bottle. Then she too climbed under the duvet and held Lindsay’s cold, rigid body till sleep finally released her from her pain.

At nine the following morning, Lindsay was waiting in Jim Carstairs’ secretary’s office, the damning evidence in her hands. While she waited for him to arrive, she persuaded his secretary to let her make photocopies of Anisha’s letter. When he bustled in looking harried with a briefcase and an armful of files, he gave Lindsay a friendly grin. “Come on through,” he invited her.

She hovered nervously in front of his desk while he deposited his papers, then looked up at her. “Sit down then,” he said. “It’s all right. I’m not going to eat you. Though after yesterday evening’s little farce, don’t be surprised if Antonis Makaronas does.”

“I’m sorry I wasted your time,” Lindsay sighed. “I should just have brought Alex straight to you and we could have taken it from there.”