‘Lunch?’ he suggested.

‘Where?’

Where indeed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken someone to lunch. He wanted somewhere impressive, somewhere …

‘I’m guessing,’ she said, ‘that you like a fry-up on a Sunday.’ It was almost as if she could feel his discomfort and wanted to help.

‘Am I so transparent?’

‘Quite the opposite. You’re a flesh-and-blood Scottish male. I, on the other hand, like something simple, fresh and wholesome.’

Rebus laughed. ‘The word “incompatible” springs to mind.’

‘Maybe not. Where do you live?’

‘Marchmont.’

‘Then we’ll go to Fenwick’s,’ she stated. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘Great,’ he said. ‘Half-twelve?’

‘I look forward to it. Goodnight, Inspector.’

‘I hope you’re not going to call me Inspector all the way through lunch.’

In the silence that followed, he thought he could hear her smiling.

‘See you tomorrow, John.’

‘Enjoy the rest of your …’ But the connection was dead. He went back inside the pub and grabbed the phone book again. Fenwick’s: Salisbury Place. Less than a twenty-minute walk from his flat. He must have driven past it a dozen times. It was fifty yards from Sammy’s accident, fifty yards from where a killer had tried to stick a knife in him. He would make the effort tomorrow, push those memories aside.

‘Same again, Harry,’ he said, bouncing on his toes.

‘You’ll wait your turn like everyone else,’ Harry growled at him. It didn’t matter to Rebus; didn’t bother him at all.

He was ten minutes early.

She walked in only five minutes later, so she was early too. ‘Nice place,’ he told her.

‘Isn’t it?’ She was wearing a black two-piece over a grey silk blouse. A blood-red brooch sparkled just above her left breast.

‘Do you live nearby?’ he asked.

‘Not exactly: Portobello.’

‘But that’s miles away! You should have said.’

‘Why? I like this place.’

‘You eat out a lot?’ He was still trying to digest the fact that she’d come all the way into Edinburgh for lunch.

‘Whenever I can. One of the perks of my PhD is that I call myself “Dr Burchill” whenever I’m making a booking.’

Rebus looked around. Only one other table was occupied: down near the front, a family party by the look of it. Two kids, six adults.

‘I didn’t bother booking for today. It’s never too busy at lunchtime. Now, what shall we have … ?’

He thought about a starter and a main course, but she seemed to know that really he wanted the fry-up, so that was what he ordered. She went for soup and duck. They decided to order coffee and wine at the same time.

‘Very brunchy,’ she said. ‘Very Sunday somehow.’

He couldn’t help but agree. She told him he could smoke if he liked, but he declined. There were three smokers at the family table, but the craving was still a little way off.