It was a pleasant room, lined with books from floor to ceiling. There was a magnificent walnut desk near the Adam fireplace and a small bar in one corner, carefully designed to stay in character. From the heavy velvet curtains, to the Persian carpet on the floor, everything was perfect. Too perfect. It was as if someone had called in a firm of interior decorators and ordered a gentleman’s study as per the catalogue.

He helped himself to a cigarette from a box containing Turkish and Virginian, another anachronism, and moved across to the shelves. From their general appearance, the books had come with the study in some kind of package deal. He took one down, examined it and smiled. Even the pages hadn’t been cut. As he replaced it, the door opened and Bella came in.

It was quite incredible. She didn’t look a day older, no different from the healthy young animal he’d worshipped as a kid, hanging around on the corner of Khyber Street to see her go by.

The clothes were more expensive, of course. The red dress had obviously cost Faulkner a packet, the diamond brooch on one shoulder looked real.

But these were inessentials. The hair was still as dark, the eyes bright, mouth full and generous and when she moved to meet him, the old indefinable something was still there. A complete, deep sensuality that would still move men when her hair was grey.

‘Miller?’ she said. ‘Nick Miller? Don’t I know you?’

‘A long time ago,’ he said. ‘Around the corner from your old house in Khyber Street. My mother kept a shop.’

Her smile was like a bubble breaking through to the surface. ‘Now I remember. You’re Phil Miller’s kid brother. I met him at a party the other week. He told me all about you.’

‘I’m surprised he mentioned me in company.’

She took a cigarette from the box and he gave her a light. ‘So you’re a Detective Sergeant now?’ She shook her head. ‘And everywhere I go I see another of those television shops of Phil’s. It doesn’t make sense. Why aren’t you working with him?’

‘Phil has a flair for making money.’ Nick smiled. ‘I run to darker talents. In any case, I’m a sleeping partner.’

‘Isn’t that illegal or something? For a policeman, I mean?’

‘We don’t mention that.’ He threw his cigarette into the fire. ‘I’ve been trying to run Ben to earth for the past two or three hours without success. He’s here in town, but that’s as far as I’ve got.’

‘Ben?’ she said warily, her smile vanishing. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your sister made a complaint earlier this evening. Said you’d had a message from Ben saying he’d look you up. She asked us to run him down. Warn him not to bother you.’