“Yes. Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine, thank you. What’s the music?”

“Sally Beamish,” said Banks. “I’ll turn it off if you like.”

“No. Leave it on. It’s good. You always play interesting music.”

Banks settled down in his chair. It was dark outside now. The stars were out, and the table lamp reflected its orange glow in the glass. They chatted for a while about Zelda’s time in London, how much she loved the city and how sad she was about the whole Brexit mess.

“Sometimes I think it’s not Europe people want to leave but England itself,” said Banks. “Life here can be quite depressing, but it’s no good blaming the EU for that. Change needs to happen here first.” He shrugged. “But I’m not a politician. I don’t have a seat to keep, or a need for power.”

“I think you get plenty of power in your job, don’t you?”

“I suppose so. The power of arrest and so forth. I’ve seen coppers abuse it, the same way politicians abuse theirs.”

“And perhaps conditions are bad in the cities, but it is beautiful here, isn’t it?”

Banks nodded. “I’m very lucky, and I know it.”

“Me, too.”

“Why sound so sad? There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

Zelda shook her head and tried to smile. “No, it’s not . . . I mean, I get scared when I come to love something so much. Afraid I will lose it. Life has always been like that.”

“I think we all have a bit of that in us. Imposter syndrome. A sense of not deserving what we have. Or survivor’s guilt.”

Zelda shot him a direct glance. “I don’t feel guilty about surviving,” she said.

“I know. I didn’t mean that. I meant . . .”

Her tone softened. “It’s all right, Alan. I think I know what you meant. Forgive me. It’s just my job that makes me this way. The faces bring back so many bad memories. But many girls are far, far worse off than me.”

“Yes.” Banks stood and topped up their drinks. He would need to open another bottle soon. “If you want to smoke,” he said, “it’s OK. I’m sure I can find an ashtray somewhere.” Though Banks had stopped smoking many years ago, he felt that if he invited someone into his house whom he knew was a smoker, then he should permit that person to smoke. As it turned out, most didn’t; very few of his friends smoked, anyway.

Zelda shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she said. “I’m trying to smoke less than five cigarettes a day, and I’ve already reached my limit today. But thank you.”

“So what do you want to see me about?” he asked.

“I thought it was you who wanted to see me?”

Banks laughed. “Well, it’s true I would like to talk to you. Nelia.”