The phone started to ring in the kitchen downstairs. ‘That’ll be Nan,’ said April. ‘Wondering where I am. Actually, I’m wondering that myself. When’s Kate due back?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘You should talk this through with her. Before you do anything about it, I mean. Marty’s not your responsibility. Nor is this Japanese woman. And Peter, if he’s alive, clearly doesn’t think you’re his responsibility either.’

‘He probably doesn’t even know I exist.’

‘It might be better for you to leave it that way.’ The phone stopped ringing. ‘But you’re not going to, are you?’

‘I may have no option. If I can’t find Martin. Or Mimori Takenaga.’

‘I wish I could believe that would stop you. But you’ve inherited Caro’s stubbornness. There were things she just wouldn’t give up on. That goes for you too. And this is one of those things. Maybe she sent Marty the advert because she knew he’d end up telling you about Peter. And then …’

‘The truth would come out?’

‘Yeah.’ April nodded glumly. ‘Whatever the truth is.’

TWELVE

a SECOND LONG FLIGHT in twenty-four hours wasn’t a prospect Wada had been relishing, but she reckoned the effort was worth it. If anyone had been paying attention – and she suspected someone had – she’d done all she could to give them the impression she was baling out of Kodaka’s enquiries into Nishizaki’s business affairs. She’d even used her personal credit card to pay for this leg of the journey rather than the company card.

She had little clear idea of what was awaiting her in Iceland and tried to prevent herself brooding on the point by returning to her comfort reading, The Makioka Sisters, as soon as the plane took off from JFK. It proved a futile effort, not because she wasn’t in the mood to enjoy Tanizaki’s playful storytelling, but because the man sitting next to her, a paunchy, shock-haired American in a business suit he’d obviously bought when he was about ten kilograms lighter, insisted on conversing with her.

Wada’s prejudices about Americans – particularly American men – were confirmed by almost everything George Guptill said. He volunteered his name and a handshake she found difficult to refuse, then alternated unsought disclosures about himself (married, childless, resident in New Jersey, en route to Iceland to try to establish a franchise arrangement for his boss’s East Coast burger chain) with unwelcome curiosity about Wada. She thought her responses were cool if not curt enough to persuade him to give up, but he seemed to regard her reticence as a challenge and started making wild guesses about her which she ended up correcting, thereby giving him the satisfaction of finding out more about her than she’d intended.