‘It’s called “The Death of a Thousand Cuts,” or something equally picturesque. Lower percentages are employed for purposes of discipline or persuasion.’ The scowl became even more pronounced. ‘The primary subject of the interrogation was your present whereabouts. I ought to have told them not to bother, because you’d be sure to turn up before long. Christ Almighty, Vicky, wasn’t one encounter with that ghastly woman enough? I have been trying for two days to get you out of here, and you keep coming back like a – a bloody boomerang!’

‘You’re the nastiest, most ungrateful bastard I have ever – ’ I began.

‘If you’re going to shout, at least close the door!’

‘Oh.’ I closed the door.

‘Dare I flatter myself that you came after me this time?’ John inquired in his most poisonously polite voice. ‘Very good of you, I’m sure. All right, let’s try the escape bit again. If we keep practising we may get it right one day. I trust it occurred to you to bring along a weapon? Possibly even a knife? If you didn’t, there’s one on the table.’

I had already seen it and was trying hard not to look at it. The blade was dark and clotted. Hoisting my skirts, I whipped out my own knife. I had wrapped a cloth around it as a makeshift scabbard.

A look of apprehension replaced John’s scowl as I wobbled towards him. ‘Do please watch what you’re doing. There are several essential arteries running down the extremities and your knowledge of anatomy – ’

‘I don’t suppose it’s as expert as hers.’ I had no doubt who had used that knife. His shirt was open and I could see some of the cuts, arranged in patterns as neat as cross-stitch.

I managed to free his ankles without slashing an artery and then crawled around behind the chair. When the knife touched his bare arm he made a profane remark and I snapped, ‘I’m trying to slide it down between your wrists. The rope is pretty tight.’

‘Oh, is it really?’

‘If you don’t stop twitching and complaining it will be your own damned fault if you end up with a spouting artery.’

After the last of the ropes had fallen away John rose briskly to his feet and immediately dropped to his knees. Instinctively I reached for him. He flinched away from my touch.

‘No. Just . . . give me a minute.’

I stood looking helplessly down at him as he fought to control his ragged breathing. Sweat had darkened his hair and his wrists were ringed with ridged flesh.

‘John,’ I whispered. ‘I, uh . . . I . . .’

‘Well?’ He didn’t look up, but his shoulders straightened as if in expectation.

‘I . . . I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry,’ John repeated.