‘A fallen angel?’ Higham let out a short bark of laughter. It had less joy or mirth in it than any laugh I’d ever heard. ‘That bloody lunatic? Christ. Poor misguided boy.’

‘I think he identified with something in the poem – in Paradise Lost,’ I said quietly. ‘The moral choice between heaven and hell. He was really struggling at the end.’

For a moment we gazed at one another, and I knew we recognised our mutual shame, shame for the roles we had inadvertently played that cold spring evening so many years ago.

‘I still miss him, you know,’ I said. ‘I really do. He was – he was amazing. Despite what happened in the end.’

Our gazes locked. There was no place to hide.

‘He was flawed,’ Higham said coldly. ‘Deeply flawed, poor boy.’

Downstairs the guffaws grew: presumably indicating the meeting was drawing to a close. Higham checked his watch. ‘So – the job?’

‘And what’s the condition, Lord Higham?’

‘Straight to the point. I like that in a woman.’ The waitress appeared at his elbow now with a lighter. She was very young. ‘Come now, Rose. You must know what the conditions are.’

‘Must I?’

‘Oh, I think so, my dear Rose. I mean, you’re a bright girl. You must know what serves you best. Especially with your husband so far out of reach.’

‘I think I’d better go now.’ I stood.

‘Must you?’ He pulled the waitress’s hand down to cigar level. ‘Got to sort out the little worm, eh? I must say, it’s really not a good idea to send people in to threaten me.’

‘Sorry?’ I felt wrong-footed suddenly. Scared even.

‘Have you met my youngest? Charlie?’ He changed tack abruptly, dropping the name in like we were at some kind of social gathering.

‘Not really.’ My stomach clenched. ‘He came to a party at my house, but I didn’t know who he was.’

‘Charlie is my latest worry.’ He gazed at me. His eyes bulged unattractively, like congealed aspic. ‘Despite a brilliant education, he’s gone off the rails. I’ve had to cut the ties for a while. Financially, I mean. I fear – I fear he might be going down the route his brother did.’

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of his words.

‘So you understand me?’ Higham smiled a grim smile. ‘Sending people to extort money is never going to be wise.’

‘You’ve lost me.’ But with a sinking heart, I remembered the photos in the cupboard. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I lied.

He stared at me. And his eyes, they suddenly reminded me of someone else – I just couldn’t think who. Not Charlie with his limpid dark eyes. Not Dalziel, whose amber eyes had been slanted and beautiful. Someone I’d seen more recently.