‘I’m surprised they’re still in touch. What did the message say?’

‘That Caldwell had not turned up – in London, I guess – to meet someone called Nick Miller. Miranda wanted to know why.’

‘Miller? One of the other residents was called Miller, I think. A girl. I can’t remember her first name.’

‘It sounds like a man to me.’ Wada didn’t propose to explain how she knew for a fact Nick Miller was a man.

‘You can’t judge someone’s sex by their name these days, Mrs Takenaga. Not in this country, anyway. But … it could be her husband, I suppose.’ Or her son. But Wada had no intention of saying that. ‘It all suggests something’s going on that’s stirred up memories from forty years ago. I wish I knew what.’

‘So do I.’

Holgate looked narrowly at her. ‘I reckon you’ve got a better idea than me of what it might be, Mrs Takenaga.’

‘I do not understand why you think so.’

‘Instinct.’

‘A journalist’s instinct?’

‘If you like.’ Holgate sighed. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Go back to Japan, I suppose. If Caldwell does not … reappear.’

‘Really? Give up? Just like that?’

‘What choice do I have?’

‘I might be able to help you, Mrs Takenaga. But I need you to be more … open with me. More … forthcoming.’

‘I am not generally … forthcoming … with people I hardly know, Mr Holgate.’

‘Particularly not when they’re journalists?’

‘Well …’ She smiled at him. ‘You are one. You said so.’

He sighed again, then took out his wallet, removed a card from it and laid it on the bedside cabinet. ‘Sorry it’s a bit grubby. I haven’t had a batch printed for a long time. But it tells you how to contact me. And I hope you will contact me. When you’re ready.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘To discuss where you go from here. Because I seriously doubt it’s back to Japan.’

‘I am feeling tired. I think I would like you to leave.’

‘Then I’ll go.’ He rose from the chair. ‘Thanks for the chat. Especially since you didn’t actually want to have one.’

It had been another frustrating day for Nick. He’d made no progress with his landscape after foolishly deciding to make one last effort to contact Caldwell. All he’d got for his pains was a fleeting telephone conversation with Mimori Takenaga, the Japanese woman Caldwell had supposedly been meeting in London. But she was answering Caldwell’s phone in Exeter, which made no sense to him. And she was giving away very little. Until the line had suddenly gone dead. Which it had stayed ever since. What the hell was going on?