‘Hey, you’re paying.’ Draper’s tone was light. The confusion gone. ‘Means you choose where you buy them.’

Michael smiled, purely from politeness. His headache was growing. A perfect combination of grief, stress and anxiety, manifesting as physical pain. The conversation Draper was trying to instigate was not welcome. At least not until Michael had managed to medicate with some whisky.

They turned right as they exited the central market warehouse and passed a string of exclusive drinking dens and eateries. Michael had visited most of them in his twenties and early thirties, during his single years. They had probably changed hands time and again in the intervening years. New names. New branding. But basically the same food and drink.

‘It’s just a little further up ahead,’ Michael said as they crossed the junction with St John’s Street. ‘There’s a good bar in the basement, and a—’

Michael stopped speaking abruptly, mid-sentence. The restaurant that sat just north of the junction was new. An expensive, modern design. It included a sheer glass window across its entire front, with a glass door built in. The effect was an impressive statement of the venue’s desirability. What it also was – whether intentional or otherwise – was a mirror.

‘You OK?’ Draper asked.

Michael did not answer. Instead he took Draper by the hand without explanation and increased his pace, Michael could feel Draper’s confusion in her grip; first unresponsive, then tightening in enthusiastic agreement.

Hand in hand with him, Draper had no choice but to match Michael’s speed, at first without complaint. Then it increased again.

‘Michael, slow down. There’s no hurry.’

Draper pulled her hand away as she spoke. They had turned left while speed-walking, onto a side street that led to Charterhouse Square and the hotel. It lacked the restaurants, the bars and the traffic of the main road.

A street where they were practically alone.

Michael turned towards Draper as they came to a halt. The intent and passion in her eyes could not have been clearer. It was not a surprise. From the moment he had taken her hand he had known that Draper would misread his action. But he had had no choice. No chance to explain. Even now they had just moments.

‘Jenny, get in the doorway.’ Michael’s voice was firm. Commanding. His words were plainly not what Draper had been expecting and her confusion caused her to hesitate.

‘There’s no time for this.’ Michael grabbed Draper by the upper arms and manhandled her to the nearest recess. ‘You need to stay out the way of this.’

As Michael spoke he detected the movement in his peripheral vision. He span round to face it and was confronted by the three men he had seen following them in the restaurant window. Patrick O’Driscoll and two others Michael did not recognise had stopped just feet away.

‘What did I warn you about going after my brother in there?’ O’Driscoll demanded. He was primed to fight, opening and closing his fists as he eyed Michael.