“At least you didn’t say second-hand.” Kim leaned in to kiss him, gently this time, and clambered off. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“It was my fault. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“He started it,” Kim said. “And I don’t want you to keep your mouth shut. I don’t want you to have to. I dragged you into a place I knew you’d loathe because I didn’t want to go there alone, and brought you face to face with a man you should never have met, and then complained when you didn’t take it with grace, as if you ever take injustice with grace.”

“I should have had more sense, all the same. I don’t think I understand how hard this is on you, or the ways it is.” They were both still sitting on the floor. Will wrapped an arm round Kim’s shoulders; Kim leaned against him, forehead to forehead. “Talk to me, Kim.”

“I met my father today.”

“I didn’t think you spoke.”

“We don’t. He’s in London over this business—I assume pulling strings on Chingford’s behalf for what good that’ll do—and I was summoned to the presence. His lawyer did most of the talking. How did I know Rennick, what was I doing at the Symposium, what use could I be. My father took the opportunity to inform me that the best I could do was not to make matters worse, and that should I step into Chingford’s shoes, he will whip me into shape as he should have done when I was a boy. Apparently he’s forgotten he tried that and failed. South America may not be far enough.”

“You’re a grown man. He can’t make you do anything.”

“He can make my life bloody unpleasant while trying. Can we have a drink? I need one.”

There was a bottle of single malt Scotch on the bedroom mantelpiece these days instead of the cheap stuff. Another little piece of Kim in Will’s daily life. He poured them both generous slugs and they sat on the bed side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

“So,” Will said. “What’s your brother’s chances?”

“Exceedingly poor. The options are the M’Naghten insanity defence; arguing that he was intolerably provoked, which would make it manslaughter; or kicking up enough of a smokescreen of reasonable doubt to persuade a jury they can’t safely convict. Stratton doesn’t think the insanity defence will work, but my father is in any case refusing to countenance it. Provocation is unlikely to succeed given the elapsed time between the row and murder, not to mention that the stupid bastard won’t say what the row was about. And reasonable doubt founders on the fact that he almost certainly did it.”

“Only almost?”