‘Probably. Of course, I don’t know for certain. It’s only a thought. But we can’t link him with drugs, and if he’s not visiting Harley Street for private medical reasons it seems to me that it would make sense of everything we’ve seen. Or am I jumping to conclusions?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘No. Not necessarily. But it’s one heck of an assumption.’

Chapter 17

The sage has the sun and moon by his side. He grasps the universe under the arm. He blends everything into a harmonius whole, casts aside whatever is confused or obscured, and regards the humble as honourable.

Chuang Tzu, c.369–286BC

Christopher couldn’t remember when he had last lit a candle. He thought he’d make an effort. It would be the last time he would see Ellie for a while. She’d be with him until the end of the week, she had said, but he reckoned that most evenings she’d be catching up with her mates and so he would make the most of tonight.

‘Are we dressing for dinner?’ she’d asked. With tongue in cheek he’d replied, ‘Of course,’ but he was surprised when she came down in a sparkly top with her long fair hair cascading over her shoulders.

‘You know, when you make an effort it’s quite amazing what you can look like,’ he teased.

‘Yes. Well, it’s just a shame you didn’t do the same.’

‘I’m always smart,’ he countered.

‘Except when you’re gardening.’

‘OK. Point taken. Would you like me to go and change?’

‘Don’t be daft. Only kidding. Anyway, this is probably the last chance I’ll get to wear anything decent before I go back to Africa.’

‘I thought you’d be out on the town.’

‘Not out. In. It’s better to see my friends at home, then we can talk properly instead of shouting over all that loud music.’

Christopher smiled. ‘I thought I was supposed to think like that, not you.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Dad. I can’t take the racket like I used to.’

‘At twenty-three?’

‘And three-quarters.’

Christopher poured her a glass of wine and they sat down at either side of the old oak table in the kitchen. ‘I don’t remember when I last did this,’ he said.

‘That’s sad,’ said Ellie. ‘Maybe you’ll be doing more of it soon. Have you asked her round to dinner?’

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think? Maria, of course.’

‘No. Not yet. Don’t want her to think I’m pushing things. We’re going to the opera on Wednesday, though. Tosca. At Covent Garden.’

‘Safe.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, not much time to talk. Except in the interval. Not much time to get to know one another.’