The day after Maya’s boyfriend died at Albion Manor, my mother came to collect the children for the weekend and James flew out to Vietnam. I’d tried one final time to suggest that I might accompany him – my mother had even offered to babysit for the whole week – but James still rejected the idea. He was going earlier than originally planned, to ‘see a man about some marble’, as he put it, for his luxury chill-out room and for a meeting in Saigon. The reopening of Revolver in London was looming and he was determined that it was exactly what Britain needed. ‘People need cheering up right now,’ he said simply, and I had felt some affection for his black-and-white view of life; his optimism in frivolity.

The affection soon vanished on the way to the airport when I finally told James about Xavier and the Kattan story. I’d been nervous about mentioning it, but even I was shocked by the strength of his disapprobation.

‘I can’t fucking believe you never said anything.’ James slammed his fist against his window as we joined the M4. My thoughts were speeding so fast I could hardly untangle them quickly enough to defend myself.

‘But I tried to tell you days ago that Xav had called me. It’s just – well, you never listen.’

James’s face was deathly pale, the shadows huge under his eyes. ‘You what?’ His tone was quiet and menacing. I hadn’t heard that tone for a while.

I clutched the wheel tighter. ‘You weren’t interested,’ I said as blithely as I could, overtaking a caravan that rocked dangerously. ‘And why would it have been such a bad idea anyway?’

‘You know the answer to that, don’t you, Rose?’ His top lip had gone rigid as it always did in anger. ‘Oh, it all makes sense now. For fuck’s sake.’

‘It’s fascinating. He’s fascinating. I’ve told Xav no, but you know, James, I’ve got a feeling, a sense, something big’s happening out there.’ I was gabbling with nerves. ‘He’s got his daughter practically a – a prisoner in that monstrous house, her boyfriend’s dead, it’s practically open murder. It’s like bloody Jane Eyre up there, women locked in the attic, and you know, I think Xav might be right about the al-Qaeda connection.’

An Aston Martin tore up behind me and flashed its lights. ‘Bloody idiot,’ I muttered, but refused to budge.

‘Rose,’ James looked in the mirror, ‘move over.’

‘I won’t be bullied by some stupid git, J. I’m doing ninety.’

The Aston inched nearer and flashed again.

Reluctantly I pulled into the middle lane. ‘God knows what he’s up to, or who is coming and going there. There’s chemicals piled everywhere and that bloke Zack, who works for him, is a nutter. He’s even got the Islam flag tattooed on his arm.’