‘Most of that’s been reported by the media,’ she said, her voice clipped and precise. ‘Tell me something they don’t know.’

The private school accent irritated him.

‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said.

It was cat-and-mouse and Bish preferred to be neither. ‘I need a motive,’ he said.

‘For my daughter blowing up a bus?’ The fury in her expression was instantaneous.

‘No. For Violette lying about being on this side of the world. Why now?’

She studied him silently. It was unnerving, but he held the stare.

‘Noor, I crossed the Channel today to ID the body of a young girl and I prayed to a God I’m not sure I believe in anymore that it wasn’t Violette.’

After a long silence she slid her hand into a pocket and retrieved a postcard, placing it on the table between them.

‘It’s from Violette.’

The message was brief. I’m going to shame the devil.

Was it a threat of some sort? He picked up the postcard and took in the details. Posted in Calais the day after the bombing. ‘The guards let you have this?’ he asked.

‘They didn’t suspect it was from her. They probably thought it was some nutter, so yes, they let me have it. They’re considerate in that way,’ she said dryly.

‘How do you know it’s from Violette?’

‘She studied Henry IV this year. “O while you live. Tell truth and shame the devil,”’ Noor quoted. ‘She borrowed the line.’

‘What truth is she referring to?’

The hostility was back in her eyes as she studied him. As if he was supposed to know the truth according to the LeBracs and Sarrafs.

‘Can I take this?’ he asked.

LeBrac snatched it out of his hands and tucked it back into her pocket.

‘All I have to do is tell your guard about it,’ Bish said. ‘So why don’t you put us all out of our misery and hand it over now.’

‘Because it could be the last thing my daughter writes to me, so if anyone wants it they’ll have to fight me for it.’

He tossed up whether to give her more information. He figured she’d taken a chance by showing him the postcard. ‘Violette’s not on her own,’ he said. ‘She’s travelling with one of the kids from the tour.’

LeBrac’s lip curled in disgust. ‘Who? The one who smeared her reputation?’

‘Crombie’s not important,’ Bish said.

‘If my daughter had sex with him, he’s important,’ she said flatly.

‘You didn’t have sex with insipid idiots at her age?’

‘I’ve had consensual sex with one man in my life and Etienne LeBrac was anything but insipid.’

Consensual sex. It turned Bish’s stomach to think what she meant by that, regardless of what Noor LeBrac had done.

‘The thing is, she hasn’t run off with Crombie. It’s a bit stranger than that.’

She eyed him cautiously. ‘In what way?’

‘The boy she’s with is only thirteen,’ he told her.

The flash of pain that crossed her face made him susceptible to empathy again and he didn’t want to feel that for her. It also meant she knew something.