On the tube, Bloom found herself thinking of a similar trip they’d taken to Leeds earlier in the year. Marcus had chatted happily then. Now, he avoided eye contact and there was a scowl plastered across his face.

‘How are you?’ she said.

‘I told you. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I’m not asking about it. I’m asking how you are here, now, today?’

Jameson glanced at her. ‘Fine.’

She didn’t think he looked fine – he was pale and his shirt hung too loosely over his shoulders – but this wasn’t the time.

Jameson was staring at a spot on the carriage floor. He’d been gazing at it on and off since they sat down. ‘What do you make of Karene?’ he asked. ‘Is she kosher?’

‘I wouldn’t have called you if she wasn’t.’

His lip twitched. ‘Yes, but you didn’t call.’

Bloom ignored the jibe. ‘What do you want to know? I trust her. She’s one of the most unflappable people I’ve ever met.’

Jameson huffed a laugh. ‘Is that so?’

‘Not flat and unemotional like … you know …’ She knew not to use Seraphine’s name. ‘She’s simply very robust. All of her research into mental resilience? That comes from somewhere personal. She knows everything there is to know about it. For her PhD, she interviewed hundreds of people: high achievers, people in high-risk professions, those suffering with chronic illnesses. They’re all linked by the same qualities, things that keep them fighting.’

‘Such as?’ The tube pulled into Baker Street station.

‘The right mindset: tenacity, optimism, sense of purpose. So it’s odd to see her so …’ Bloom struggled to find the right word.

‘Devastated.’

‘She does seem devastated, doesn’t she? It’s odd.’

‘You’ve never been in love, have you, Augusta?’

‘Well … I wouldn’t say—’

‘If you can’t see it screaming out of every cell in that woman, then you’ve certainly never felt it.’ There was a coldness to his tone that suggested judgement rather than teasing.

Bloom found her own speck to stare at on the floor.

The taxi dropped them at Northwood. Jameson introduced himself to the security guard and explained that their passes had been requested by Patrick Grey. They showed their passports and received red badges in return.

A guard escorted them to Building 410, where the Joint Forces Command was based. The boxy reception was a large white space furnished with black chairs and military photographs. Jameson introduced himself again at the reception desk and they were asked to take a seat.

‘This is where it all happens then?’ asked Bloom as she looked around. The windows above them were filled with Army, Navy and RAF flags.

‘These guys have been responsible for joint initiatives for decades.’

‘Which means?’