“Lindsay. What a surprise. I heard you’d left the country after . . . But . . . what on earth were you doing on the landing there? You hadn’t come to see . . . I mean, you did know about . . .?”

Same old Ruth, thought Lindsay. Congenitally incapable of finishing her sentences. “I got back a couple of weeks ago,” Lindsay said. “I only heard about Alison last night. I guess I just wanted to make a sort of pilgrimage. For old times’ sake, you know?”

Ruth Menzies gulped and nodded vigorously. “I know what you mean. Antonis and I were thinking of selling up and moving out, you know? I couldn’t face all the memories, it was all too . . . But anyway, we decided to stay a bit longer and see how . . .” The lift slid to a smooth halt and the doors opened.

“Nice to see you, Ruth,” said Lindsay pleasantly. “Maybe we could get together some time and talk about old times?” The lift stopped at the ground floor and Lindsay stepped out.

Ruth’s answer was cut short as the lift doors closed and carried her down to the basement. Lindsay walked back to her car, musing on the coincidence that had thrust her back into contact with Ruth. The mousey-haired art gallery owner had been Alison Maxwell’s closest friend for years. About the only friend who hadn’t been one of her lovers, Lindsay wouldn’t mind betting. They’d been friends since schooldays, she seemed to remember, the classic pairing of the siren who needs the mouse to show her off to full advantage. Alison had been more than a little put out when insignificant little Ruthie had returned from a buying trip to Athens with a husband in tow. And not just any husband, but a handsome, dashing Greek three years her junior, who was determined to put Ruth’s money to good use while he wrote the Great European Novel. Lindsay wondered idly if he’d managed to put pen to paper yet.

On her way back to Sophie’s flat, Lindsay made a detour to Wunda Wines, a discount warehouse in Partick, where she bought a couple of bottles of crisp white Tokai di Aquilea to go with dinner. Even that little taste of the Veneto was better than nothing, she reflected as she drove back. She parked behind a Mercedes coupé and hurried toward the tenement entrance. She had only taken a few steps when she was brought up short by the sound of a familiar voice calling her name. A moment later, Cordelia was by her side.