‘Oh yes. But she cannot go to London. Her husband takes the same view as her uncle of her father’s long-ago supposed suicide. He would not allow her to go. She can contact Caldwell and arrange a meeting, since he has supplied her with his email address, but she cannot meet him. Even coming here had to be done under the cover of a shopping expedition. However, since Caldwell has never met her, there is no reason why someone claiming to be her – a woman of about her own age, suitably briefed and fluent in English – could not go instead.’

Silence fell. The implication was obvious. Kodaka had a mission for Wada. One more challenging than anything he’d previously asked her to do. She waited for him to make the request specific, but he seemed reluctant to do so. He sipped his tea and smiled weakly at her. Eventually, she took pity on him. ‘You want me to go?’

He nodded. ‘If you are willing.’

TWO

IT WAS A cool, still, fitfully bright afternoon in london. Commuting home by clipper ferry was one of the pleasures of Nick Miller’s day. It was more pleasurable than usual this Friday because it was the start of the Easter holiday. He had three weeks of leisure to look forward to. No teaching. No commuting. And nothing to stop him doing some serious painting, especially for the first week, when his wife would be away with her friends in Tuscany.

The trimmed beard, unstructured jacket and loosely knotted tie marked him out as some kind of artistic professional. The tinted monoliths of Canary Wharf the ferry cruised past clearly weren’t his natural territory. He surveyed them from the aft deck as he took sips of black coffee he hoped would clear his head after one end-of-term drink too many. And he wondered if Kate would be at home when he got there. It was end of term for her too, but she’d said something that morning about going round to Harriet’s after leaving school to finalize arrangements for setting off the following morning.

She’d also asked him to buy some Parmesan cheese on his way home. As far as he could recall from a hustled conversation as they were both leaving the house, the cheese was the full extent of the shopping expected of him, which suggested dinner would be some pasta dish. He thought he might buy a bottle of wine to wash it down. Something Tuscan, maybe, to put Kate in the mood for her trip with the girls.

They were pleasant, simple thoughts for a spring afternoon turning towards evening. Then he realized, with something of a jolt, that he hadn’t thought about his mother all day.