‘You thought there was a few days ago.’ I could feel my blood pressure rising.

‘I changed my mind.’

‘Well, change it back. I think there could be a major scoop here, Xavier.’

He took his jacket off and hung it on the chair. I could see from his pristine shirt that he was sweating lightly. ‘Write it if you like, but I can’t print it.’

‘Can’t – or won’t?’ My anger spilt over now.

‘Can’t, won’t – it’s all the same,’ he snapped.

‘Xavier, this isn’t you talking, I know it isn’t.’ I was thoroughly confused. ‘Look, Maya Kattan says her father might have been looking at a peerage, but he’s—’

‘For fuck’s sake, Rose,’ he howled. ‘It might be fascinating but just bloody well forget it.’

Rarely had I seen him so ruffled. My fists clenched defensively by my side again. ‘Don’t shout at me, Xav, please.’

‘Well, just bloody take no for an answer.’ He looked ill, I realised. He never sweated normally; he was far too self-possessed.

‘But you’re –’ my voice was rising – ‘you’re not telling me—’

There was a knock at the door. Xav’s assistant, Joy, stuck her head round it nervously.

‘Hello, stranger.’ Beneath her neat afro her friendly face broke into a smile. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

‘Hi, Joy.’ I struggled to regain my composure. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine thanks. Sorry to interrupt, Xav …’

I shot him a look. He’d probably primed her.

‘ … But Lord Higham’s office is on the phone. They really need to know if you’re planning to attend the lunch on Thursday?’

‘Tell them,’ and this time Xav avoided my stunned gaze, ‘tell them I’d be honoured.’

‘Come and say hello before you go, won’t you?’ Joy said as she quickly shut the door behind her, escaping the atmosphere inside the room.

‘Lord Higham?’ I felt the old fear well up.

‘Yes, bloody old Higham,’ he snapped again. ‘I don’t know why you’re so obsessed.’

I felt like I didn’t know my old friend at all. ‘I didn’t realise – is he courting you now?’

‘No, you dunce.’ Xav opened the jet cigarette-box on his desk wearily and pulled out a packet of nicotine gum. ‘He’s just bought the bloody paper.’

Chapter Fifteen
LONDON, MARCH 2008

I walked through St James’s Park and I felt like I’d drunk too much coffee, which I probably had. I also felt exhausted and a little mad, to say the least. Nothing quite added up and every lead swerved off, with nothing coming back to tie up neatly. But what I couldn’t decipher was, was there really no story worth covering – or had I simply lost my ability to follow a trail?