Was his childish bet won, then? Was he saved from having to travel to Borneo? Ross stood at the edge of the turnip field and watched the wind moving the trees in the wood beyond it. The notion that the direction of every human life may often be determined by such infinitely small moments, by such superstitious arithmetic was a terrifying one and he berated himself for ever thinking up this ridiculous wager.

He turned away from the field and was about to walk on when his eye was caught by a fluttering of wings, as a large bird settled on a fallen log at the edge of the wood. He looked over to it and was relieved to see that it was a rook. But his gaze was held a while longer by what could almost have been a still life set before him: a bird standing silent and still on a dead, moss-covered tree trunk. It seemed to him almost as though the scene had arranged itself before him, to tell him something, but he was unable to say what it was.

He invited Jane to take supper in his rooms. He knew that this was a provocative invitation and he expected her to refuse, but she did not refuse.

He sent out to a cook shop for smoked trout with a cucumber mousse and to the wine merchants for a bottle of Rhenish hock.

She arrived wearing a dress of dark brown silk with an amber necklace at her throat, as if dressed for a much grander evening than the one he was offering. She had woven brown satin ribbons into her hair. Against these dark and shining colours, her skin looked very white.

He poured her a little glass of hock and as she sipped it she said, ‘So Doctor Ross, I suppose this is a little farewell supper, is it? You see I have chosen to wear an expensive dress, purchased in Paris, in your honour. When do you sail for Borneo?’

He was unable to speak. He had not imagined that he would be confronted by his moment of truth so very early in the evening. He’d presumed they might spend time talking about Latimer’s death, or about the marriage of Sir William and Mrs Morrissey, but no, of course this was Jane, and Jane always liked to rush headlong towards the heart of any matter. She had little patience for small talk or conversational evasion of any kind.

‘I believe,’ Jane continued, ‘my father told me you would sail in two weeks – or perhaps less? Is this right?’

‘No,’ said Ross.

‘No? He was mistaken, then?’

‘No …’

‘Oh alas, Doctor Ross, I am confused now. Is there a difference in meaning between one “no” and another?’

It had to come out then. She’d begun to tease him, as she always did, and he couldn’t let this happen at such a time. He believed he would kill her – he would put his hands round her beautiful white neck and strangle her – rather than let her belittle him and make him suffer as he’d suffered before.