He raised the knife so that the man could see it and then very deliberately lowered it into the flame. He held it there as the metal started to heat, aware that the man’s attention was fixed on it. The imagination was a powerful thing, and it would do the man no harm to envisage what Katsuro might do with the blade.

The metal changed colour as it oxidised. “Was that your wife?” Katsuro said. “The woman you went to the dock with tonight. Victoria Deschamps.”

“Don’t mention my wife again.”

“Or what, monsieur?” He spat the word derisively. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do if you don’t tell me what I want to know. I’m going to ask you again, and you really should give some thought to answering me honestly. If I don’t think that you’ve told me the truth, things won’t be so good for you or her. First of all, you and I are going to have fun with this blade. Once we’re done, I’ll go and find your wife and introduce myself to her. She’s a good-looking woman. Not as good-looking as Sakura, not as young, but you’ve done well for yourself. We’d have a good time before…” He paused. “Well, you know what will happen to you and to her. One of you is going to tell me what I want to know. Wouldn’t it be better if you told me now, before I need to start thinking about using”—he held up the knife—“this?”

The man watched the blade and Katsuro knew that he was going to get what he wanted.

60

Victoria opened the door of their villa and went through into the kitchen. It had been a long day and she was ready for bed. She opened the fridge to take out the ginger so that she could make tea for her and Jean-Michel, but there was none in the usual place. She remembered: they had used up all of the root last night. It didn’t matter; there was always plenty in the kitchen. She would pop over and get some and encourage Jean-Michel to finish up so that he could come back with her.