‘How in God’s name did you get up here?’

‘Jessica, you ought to know that the security arrangements here are really not tenable, especially for a drugs company.’

‘Get out.’

‘Now, hold on . . .’

‘Get out!’

Priest had intended to stay seated but found himself out of the chair with arms raised in a gesture of conciliation.

My God she’s beautiful.

‘Hear me out,’ he pleaded.

She folded her arms and looked away, disgusted. ‘Why?’

‘Let me explain.’

‘Explain which bit? The little tart you were bent over or the breaking and entering?’

Priest scanned desperately for something to anchor the conversation with. He suspected the building had security guards and he didn’t fancy the idea of being thrown off the top of a fifteen-storey office block. He thought he might try an old lawyer’s trick to get a judge to listen.

‘How about you give me one minute to persuade you that you’ve misunderstood and we should start off where we were before and if I can’t then I go quietly?’

She folded her arms, which he took as the start of his minute of reprieve.

‘I know it doesn’t look good. I know from where you’re standing, I look like a fucking creep. I also know that I can be . . . a little awkward sometimes.’

She leant her head to one side as if to reply with, You don’t say.

‘I have a condition . . .’

‘Yes, you suffer from depersonalisation disorder. I know.’

Once again, the words that he had prepared were ripped out of his throat. Not only did she know about his condition, she also knew the exact type. His mind raced: how does she know that?

‘That’s right.’ He felt as though he was three feet tall and she was towering over him. ‘Just out of interest, how do you know that?’

She stepped forward, and her command of the situation tightened. My father did the business on you, Charlie. He was a very careful person. He also knew your father. Did you expect him to keep your medical history secret from me?’

‘No,’ he admitted. It seemed obvious now. ‘Probably not much point in using that as an excuse then.’

She sighed, but there was a tiny movement across her lips. ‘No. No point at all.’ She had almost smiled.

‘How about an apology instead?’

The smile didn’t materialise. Instead, she pushed past him. Up close her face was as he remembered: high cheekbones, authoritative, flawless skin, bright devilish eyes and minimal make-up.

‘You can give me my desk back first,’ she said, positioning herself behind it, but not sitting down. ‘Then we’ll talk.’

Priest pulled a face, the balance of power had shifted. If she was going to kick him out, she would have done it by now.

‘How are things here?’ He motioned around the room, meaning the Ellinder Group.