I felt a stab of longing; I understood so little about this part of her life. She’d explained as much as I could follow, but I still had no real idea of what spun through her head when she was sitting at her work station juggling airflow simulations, or clambering around the wind tunnel making adjustments to Little Harold.

I said, “I wish you’d let me film some of this.”

Gina regarded me balefully. “Not a chance, Mister Frankenscience. Not until you can tell me categorically whether wind turbines are Good or Evil.”

I cringed. “You know that’s not up to me. And it changes every year. New studies are published, the alternatives come in and out of favor—”

She cut me off bitterly. “ Alternatives? Planting photovoltaic engineered forests on ten thousand times as much land per megawatt sounds like environmental vandalism to me.”

“I’m not arguing. I could always make a Good Turbine documentary … and if I can’t sell it straight away, just wait for the tide to turn again.”

“You can’t afford to make anything on spec.”

“True. I’d have to fit it in between other shooting.”

Gina laughed. “I wouldn’t try it. You can’t even manage—”

“What?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” She waved a hand, retracting the comment. I could have pressed her, but I would have been wasting my time.

I said, “Speaking of filming—” I described the two projects Lydia had offered me. Gina listened patiently, but when I asked for her opinion, she seemed baffled.

“If you don’t want to make Distress … then don’t. It’s really none of my business.”

That stung. I said, “It affects you, too. It would be a lot more money—” Gina was affronted. “All I mean is, we could afford to take a holiday, or something. We could go overseas next time you have leave. If that’s what you wanted.”

She said stiffly, “I’m not taking leave for another eighteen months. And I can pay for my own holidays.”

“All right. Forget it.” I reached over to take her hand; she pulled away, irritated.

We ate in silence. I stared down at my plate, running through the rules, trying to decide where I’d gone wrong. Had I broken some taboo about money? We kept separate accounts, sharing the rent fifty-fifty – but we’d both helped each other out, many times, and given each other small luxuries. What should I have done? Gone ahead and made Distress – purely for the money – and only then asked if there was anything we could spend it on together that would make it worthwhile?