On Friday, Collis and Hannah ate lunch at the California Market, at Darbee & Immel’s, a huge mound of shellfish, a small rump steak each, and a pot of hot coffee. Collis had spent most of the morning with Andy Hunt, arguing about the railroad, and he was going to talk in the afternoon to Horace Johnson, one of the directors of Pacific Mail, in an attempt to soften up the steamship line’s adamant opposition to transcontinental trains. Johnson had once said in public that California’s economy and security depended almost entirely on her isolation, and that to build a railroad link with the East would destroy ‘at a stroke’ her political integrity and her financial strength.

Johnson had failed to add, of course, that a railroad link would also destroy the hugely profitable monopolies of the stage-line owners and the steamship companies.

Hannah ate very little lunch, and looked pale. It was plain to Collis that the strain of staying in San Francisco, only a few blocks away from Walter, was beginning to take its toll. He was sure that she loved him far more than Walter, if love was what it was; and that she was still prepared to ask Walter for a divorce. But the effervescence of their first night together had been flattened by days of waiting alone in her room at the International, of watching the afternoon light sink gradually across the floral wallpaper to the floor. She was beginning to doubt herself again, to worry that her infatuation might not be worth the loss of her respectability, her cosy marriage, and her peace of mind with God.

Collis realised that she was faltering. Her lovemaking on Thursday night had been distant, distracted. He knew that if he didn’t take quick, positive steps to re-establish her social position, he could well lose her.

He said, over the coffee, ‘When I’ve spoken to Horace Johnson, I’ll go down to the store and see Walter.’

She looked up, her eyes widening. ‘Do you mean that?’

Collis nodded. Around them, the lunchroom was noisy and jostling, and the clatter of empty clamshells being cleared off plates sounded like castanets. ‘I want to keep you, Hannah,’ Collis added, and reached out to take her wrist.

‘Yes,’ she said, lovingly but somehow vaguely. ‘But you won’t be cruel to him, will you? You won’t—’

‘I’ll treat him as gently as china,’ Collis assured her.

Hannah picked up her coffee cup, realised it was empty, and put it down again. ‘I shall wait for you then, at the hotel,’ she said. ‘You won’t be too late, will you? You won’t keep me in suspense for too long?’

Collis didn’t answer. There was nothing he could say until he’d talked to Walter. The waiter came up with his white towel slung over his shoulder and demanded laconically, ‘Through?’ and Collis gave him a shrug which probably meant yes.