‘Yes . . .’ said Kate. He had striking blue eyes, made even more noticeable by the fact he had incredibly short hair, shaven almost to his tanned scalp.

‘And you have some virus, no?’ he prompted.

‘Not exactly.’

He frowned and checked his computer. ‘I must apologize . . . this is what we have . . .’

Kate took a breath. Smiled. ‘I’m actually here because . . . I wanted to talk to you.’

He raised a bemused eyebrow.

‘A while back, a woman wrote to you. A woman from the UK, asking if you would talk to her on record about your experiences of – and beliefs on – the use of herbicides in agriculture. Specifically, the beautiful vineyards,’ she waved a hand towards the window, ‘around here.’

He stiffened, and the welcoming smile had gone.

‘And I know you refused,’ she hurried on, ‘but—’

‘You can tell her no. And you can also tell her to stop sending her . . . friend?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You can tell her to stop sending you to come out and harass me.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘Pardon?’

Kate said nothing, just smiled hopefully.

He sighed. ‘It’s you.’

‘Guilty as charged. Listen, before you kick off,’ she said quickly, ‘please just hear me out.’

He said nothing, and she was encouraged. ‘As I said in my email, a little boy I know is ill – really ill, because he has leukaemia. I believe he got this disease from the crop-spraying that goes on right outside his house and I want to help him, his family.’ She paused. ‘I’m a lawyer . . .’

He looked at her sceptically.

‘. . . in training –’ she kept on talking despite his look of disbelief – ‘and I’m planning to sue the people responsible for spraying these poisons metres from where he – Arnie – lives. I’m building my case and you . . . you are a brick.’

He stood. ‘I am not,’ he said softly.

‘Please don’t throw me out. I’ve come all this way specially . . . I know you’re an expert on this. Those children, in your article – you’ve ascertained before that herbicides have caused cancer. Twelve children in this village alone, whose school backs onto vineyards – twelve children in eight years have had cancer—’

He cut her off. ‘I know my patients.’

‘You wrote about it, said how you believed it was because of the herbicides, sprayed right up to the edge of their playground, spray that drifted through the open windows of their classrooms—’

‘I’m sorry but I can’t help you.’

Kate dug into her bag. Pulled out the photos she’d printed off from her phone, the containers of Senerix products that she’d taken at the farm. ‘Are these the same chemicals?’

He looked at them for a moment. ‘Put those away, please.’

She didn’t. ‘Please, Dr Zayan, I need you.’

‘You should ask your own British doctors.’

‘They don’t know what you do. You have the proof.’