She hears a sharp intake of breath and knows he will not take this news well. Her father, his beloved son, was often battered and bruised. Guilt surges through her. After a long pause, he whispers, ‘Please take care of yourself, Grace. If something ever happened to you . . .’

‘I’m fine, Grandad. Honest.’

‘I love you, Grace.’

She trembles at his voice, which sounds frightened. ‘I love you too. Goodnight, Grandad.’

‘Goodnight, dear.’

She hands the phone back to Quinn.

‘How is he?’ asks Quinn.

Archer gives a light shrug.

‘How about you?’

‘I’ll survive.’

‘If you need to talk . . .’

‘Tomorrow . . . tomorrow would be good. Let’s talk then. Today has been a little full on.’

‘Yes, it has.’

Archer changes the subject. ‘I’m not allowed to interview Blackwell, apparently.’

‘So I hear.’

‘Oh . . . how do you know?’

‘You know that bare-ass naked lady from earlier? She told me, just before Security chased her from the hospital.’

Archer bites her lip, but is unable to stop her herself from laughing out loud. The laughter feels like a release, a trigger for something bigger to be unleashed. Tears form in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. She lowers her head, folds her arms and sobs quietly. She feels Quinn’s weight on the bed next to her. He neither touches her nor says anything. He is just there for her and this is all she needs at that moment.

*

The doctor gives Archer the green light to go. She asks for sleeping pills, which he has no hesitation prescribing after what she has been through.

Quinn drives her through the neon-lit streets of night-time London. She is subdued and barely notices that they have arrived as she stares out at the little star jasmine that continues to thrive despite the near-winter conditions.

‘We’re here,’ says Quinn.

‘Right . . . of course we are . . . thank you.’

She unbuckles her seatbelt.

‘Ma’am, it’s just you and your grandad at home. You’ve been through a lot. I’d be happy to stay and sleep on the sofa, if you wanted peace of mind.’

Archer mulls over his offer. ‘That’s considerate, Harry. Thank you. I’ll be fine.’

‘Just a thought.’

‘See you tomorrow?’

‘Yes, you will.’

‘Goodnight, Harry.’

Fatigue is roaring at her, urging her to go upstairs and sink into the soft, warm bed, but she can’t do that without first washing any trace of Jamie Blackwell from her body.

She swallows two sleeping tablets, removes her lenses and brushes her teeth before stepping into a steaming hot shower, where she scrubs herself clean and soon loses track of time as the hot water helps calm her tortured mind and aching muscles.