‘She isn’t anorexic.’

‘With respect, you’re not a doctor.’

‘And neither are you. If it’s so serious, why haven’t you taken her to see one?’

For all his detachment, Gus sometimes had a knack for putting his finger on the key question and she winced inwardly. She’d been asking herself the same question for some weeks. ‘Right now,’ she said, ‘what with everything else, I worry that it might actually make it worse, not better. I’m hoping if we can just keep her on the straight and narrow for a little longer, the pressure will ease off.’

‘You know that’s not how it works, right?’ Gus said.

‘What?’

‘Psychiatrists don’t make you worse. That’s not the point of them.’

Kate had no comeback to that. She kissed him thoughtfully, made a cup of tea and opened the bin to throw in the teabag. As she did so, she noticed the remains of what looked like an untouched piece of salmon fillet.

With a heavy heart, she went upstairs to knock on Fiona’s bedroom door. ‘We’re fully clothed,’ her daughter replied. Kate pushed back the door to see Fiona and her tall, rangy boyfriend lying in front of what appeared to be homework on Fiona’s bed. Jed leapt to his feet and came to kiss Kate on both cheeks. Despite his tattoos and piercings, Kate had come to be very fond of him over the past few months. She wondered sometimes what they would have done without him. It was almost as if he was the glue holding their family – or sanity – together.

‘Hi, love,’ Kate said.

‘Hi.’ Fiona didn’t move.

‘Did you manage to cook supper okay?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Have you eaten, Jed?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Henderson. I had supper at home. How was the rest of your day at work?’

‘Er, complicated, if I’m honest.’

Fiona’s demeanour suggested there was every chance she would continue to ignore her mother, so Kate retreated to her bedroom. She ran a bath and soaked in it, then contemplated once more how lonely she felt in the middle of the night – or at any time, for that matter.

She had one more task, so she reached for the house phone and dialled the number for Rose’s London home. It was a gorgeous four-bedroom townhouse just off the King’s Road, in a row characterized by many shades of pastel.

‘Is that you, Kate?’

‘How did you know?’

‘No one else calls this late.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘How was your trip?’

‘Oh . . .’ Kate realized she hadn’t had time to reflect upon the impact of seeing Stuart. ‘I don’t really know.’

‘How was he?’

‘Sad. A bit pathetic. He burst into tears on the children and told them both how much he hated his life in Moscow.’

‘Oh, God, how selfish. And bloody unhelpful.’

‘Yes . . . yes. I guess so.’

‘Was that all?’

‘Yes. Other than that, it went smoothly.’ Kate had learnt to her cost over the last six months that, in the house of secrets, it was better to keep knowledge to herself, even if Rose was the reason she had joined the Service in the first place. ‘Look, I’m so sorry to do this to you, but something’s come up that’s going to keep me in London this weekend, I think, so we’ll have to cry off the trip to Cornwall.’