‘It won’t,’ Gerald says confidently. ‘There is plenty of other news to occupy the journalists. The world will move on and forget about this episode. And by the time an election is called, your star will be on the rise once more. I have it on the best authority.’

And that is that, Harriet thinks. The deals will continue, men like Lazenby will befriend politicians like Charles Haversham and Ralph and operate unhindered – protected – in return for money. Like army generals, they will send their troops to do the dirty work – troops who will risk capture and prison for cash, glory and thrill – while they remain unconnected and unseen. Fine words about honour, courage, duty will be tossed about in high-blown political rhetoric, but away in darkened rooms and nightclubs, the grubby deals will still be done. Somehow this will be of benefit to the country, perhaps. It will keep the world in balance. Everyone will be better off.

Men like Jimmy Cartwright will keep digging away, trying to discover the truth. How long before even he is corrupted, bought, encouraged to keep silent?

Parasites feeding on parasites. She feels sick. She does not know which is worse: that it happens at all or that she has only now come to know of it.

The men are talking amongst themselves, ignoring her. The sound of their conversation echoes, sombre but mildly congratulatory, inside her head.

‘Thank you,’ she says, standing up, interrupting. ‘Thank you for enlightening me.’

‘I knew you’d understand, Harrio.’ Her father rises to be with her, catching her hands in an affectionate gesture, reminding her of when she was a child. ‘We can salvage this together.’

She shakes her hands loose. She is not a child anymore.

‘And I have asked the inspector to redouble his efforts regarding that girl you wrote about, the one using your name when she was stealing jewellery. We wouldn’t want your name connected with jewellery thefts now, after all, would we?’ Gerald smiles at his daughter, but there is a sharpness to his voice, and she catches the insinuation.

‘Yes, I’ve already had a brush with Ruby Mills.’ Arthur MacKenzie says, standing.

‘What’s that?’ Ralph looks over.

‘Ruby Mills,’ MacKenzie says, turning to address him. ‘The thief Harriet wrote about. She raided another jewellery shop on Thursday.’

‘Did you catch her?’ Ralph asks casually enough, but his eyes are bright with interest.

‘No,’ Harriet says. ‘No, he did not catch her.’

‘No,’ MacKenzie admits. ‘She slipped away. Managed to swap several expensive rings and brooches with paste imitations, and the shop assistant didn’t even notice until she’d gone. But I had her so nearly in my grasp.’

‘Next time, then, let’s hope.’ Ralph shakes his head, the hint of a smile on his lips. ‘She’s audacious, that’s for certain.’