‘Who should I work for then?’ Ed rolled his eyes at her. ‘I was with one of the Saudi princes before Declan, and I know just what you’d have made of that.’

The dozens of Saudi princes, Casey thought, the playboy billionaires who commuted to London for their fun. The wives stayed at home, of course.

‘You should have stuck with the prince,’ Casey admitted. ‘I would have found it harder to turn him.’

‘You’d have found a way, with your blackmailing habits.’

The children in Yemen with their round stomachs and cavernous eyes. And the bombs, scattering death like blossom in a field. British-made, of course.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I know.’

‘Ruthless,’ he said again. He was smiling though, scraping his hand over his head. ‘Do I need to dye it again?’ He was laughing. ‘I stained my pillowcase last night. Disgusting.’

‘It looks fabulous.’

They stared out across the ocean. The sea was indigo now, a shade darker than the denim blue of the sky.

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Casey murmured.

‘But we’ll always remember it for those trafficked girls.’

Casey thought about all the places that would always be the jab of a memory now, a spreading patchwork of misery. A beach in Spain: a toddler drowned. A Christmas market: the roar of a truck. A hilltop in London: this is the last time. The thought was a jolt.

‘Are you OK?’ Ed was watching her. Her mood had shifted, like a breeze drifting over the sea.

‘I’m fine. I have to get back to the hotel.’ Casey turned away abruptly, heading back towards the hotel, trying to hurry in the deep sand.

‘Casey?’ He was confused. ‘Wait . . .’

She ignored him, almost stumbling in her haste. He caught up with her easily.

You have to choose.

‘I need to get back . . .’

‘Why?’

She faced him, almost angry, and he pulled back, waiting.

‘What’s the matter, Casey?’

‘I’m very glad you came out to Bangladesh,’ she managed. ‘But I have to get back to the hotel.’

‘Casey.’

‘What?’

He was watching her face, and let her go. She stepped away, hesitated, turned back. They stared at each other.

‘I didn’t come out here,’ he said guardedly, ‘just because Declan told me to, you know.’

She twisted away from him. ‘I know. You told me why you came.’

‘Yes. Casey—’

‘It’s fine,’ she interrupted him, almost a shout. ‘I needed you. For the story.’

‘For the story,’ he said. ‘Yes.’

He folded himself down on the sand as she stood stubbornly. A silence settled, but Casey’s anger was gone. She scraped shapes in the sand with a piece of driftwood. Spades, diamonds, clubs, hearts, then stared out to sea. The ship lights glowed. Red and green, port and starboard, again and again and again, and suddenly Casey was hurrying down the beach towards the hotel.

‘Casey—’