Jameson looked at her. ‘I think she might have been right. I think there’s something wrong with you.’ He walked away, up the street, then round the corner and out of sight.

69

The sun shone brightly as Bloom walked across Russell Square. She’d visited Libby Goodman and then come straight back to London, eager to get back to the normality of work. But it didn’t feel normal any more. Not without Jameson, who’d refused to return. She understood his anger, but it had been three weeks. He’d finally answered her call this morning and had simply said, ‘Stop calling me, Augusta.’ He’d hung up before she could speak.

Claire had said to give him time. She was sure he’d come around eventually. She said she’d never seen her brother as content as he’d been over the past five years.

‘He used to carry around this darkness,’ she had said. ‘Then, when he started working with you, we got the old Marcus back.’

Bloom asked if the darkness had returned and Claire had replied, ‘Not like before. He’s hurt and humiliated, but he just needs to lick his wounds and see that he had a lucky escape.’

Bloom had been so focused on confronting Seraphine and making her admit what she was doing that she’d failed to do right by Marcus. She’d said that she had no choice but to keep him in the dark, and she’d meant it at the time, but now, on reflection, she knew she could have done things differently. She could have called him and made him listen.

And she had to face the possibility that he might never come back. Before Marcus, she had been happy working alone. But she didn’t want to return to that life. She missed his company and his humour.

She’d called him that morning to tell him that the fitness-to-practise case against her had finally been dropped. Dave Jones had been shown pictures of Dr Sarah Mendax and had withdrawn his complaint. It had been Sarah who’d visited him to suggest an inappropriate relationship between Bloom and Amy, and she was behind the fake images.

Bloom took the pathway through the square, as she did every morning, and walked past the dozen or so metal tables and chairs outside the cafe.

‘What a beautiful day.’

It couldn’t be. Seraphine Walker was sitting at the table nearest to the hedge with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap.

‘What are you doing here?’ said Bloom.

The liquid in the syringe had been an anaesthetic dose of ketamine. Just enough to knock someone out and mess with their memory, but nowhere near enough to kill. Within a couple of hours of arriving at Leeds General Infirmary, Seraphine had regained consciousness.

‘They released me on bail.’

‘I know. That was three weeks ago. What are you doing here now?’