One moment, Rosie was smiling at Thea and the next, her head slammed hard, sickeningly hard, into the thick stone wall and her body then slumped, doll-like, over the sill.

Thea had been close enough to hear the crunch of bone and teeth.

And close enough to see the face behind Rosie, its mouth stretched unnaturally wide in a howl of pure fury before it vanished back into the gloom.

Chapter 18

‘Hello, you old rogue. I knew you’d be here. I need to pick your brains.’

The restaurant was softly lit and hushed. Vivian slid into a seat at a table for two, opposite a man who would cut himself if he was any more sharply suited. There was a silk triangle of pocket-handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket.

‘Vivian.’ He savoured the word and smiled, putting down his newspaper and signalling to a waiter. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘I shouldn’t be seen drinking with someone who renounced their ideals and plunged themselves into the clutches of rampant capitalism—’ Vivian couldn’t stop her lips twitching into a smile.

‘Another glass of the sauvignon blanc, please,’ he said to the waiter who disappeared as swiftly as he had materialized. ‘I’ll drink it if you won’t.’

‘I never refuse wine, Tristan. You know that.’

‘Oh, yes. Yes, I do. Many an interesting evening has been the result.’

‘Before you sold out.’

‘Took over the family firm, I think you mean? Business isn’t the devil. We can’t all of us be activists forever, you know, Viv. Some of us can help in a different way.’

Vivian had to admit that capitalists did drink a better class of wine. And, like the wine, they aged well. Tristan still had his floppy hair, now white, and that boyish hint of mischief that she had so loved. She had not dressed up especially for this evening, having other more important things to concentrate on than the pain of the underwire in her bra as it tried its best to pierce her heart.

‘So how may I be of service?’ Tristan put down his glass.

‘Ing Enterprises.’

‘The technology firm?’

‘Yes. You invest in stuff like that. Know anything about it?’

Music played softly, a tune Vivian was sure she knew but couldn’t place. The cutlery glimmered in the candlelight and tapestries hung from the walls, the scenes they depicted lost in the shadows.

‘Not really. It hasn’t been on anyone’s radar for years; it used to mostly specialize in hardware. It’s not one I have shares in, unfortunately.’

‘Unfortunately?’

‘Well, there’s been a bit of a buzz about it of late. The share price has gone up. It’s the name as well: Moses Ing, bit of a legend. Why the interest, old girl?’

‘Don’t call me old girl. Makes me sound like a cow.’

‘Apologies.’