‘A favourite of my father’s, to be sure,’ he said wryly, his head lolling against the back cushion. He looked drained. ‘But I’m sure there must be something there that’s more interesting to you than that.’

‘I . . . well . . .’ A large part of her wanted to insist that she liked angling, actually, just to naysay against him, but the reality of spending an evening looking at maggot-flies, carp and dogfish was too much to bear. She turned back to the bookcase again and replaced the volume hurriedly, her fingers tracing across spines for a suitable replacement. Anything. Anything at all that wasn’t angling . . .

‘Is he in bed?’ he asked to her back as she stood on tiptoe to read the titles on the higher shelves.

‘Yes.’

‘It seems early for a ten-year-old.’

‘He was exhausted. It’s been a very draining day for him.’ She desperately hoped he heard the barbs in her words. He should be ashamed of himself for the way he’d acted in the past twenty-four hours to Hanna, Linus. Her.

‘I wanted to go in and say goodnight, but I wasn’t sure if—’

‘No, he’ll be asleep already,’ she said tersely. ‘He could scarcely keep his eyes open.’ Couldn’t he see it was far too soon for fatherly kisses?

‘. . . Right.’

‘Your evening snack, sir.’ She looked over her shoulder as Måns came in with a tray. ‘Ah, Miss Bell, good evening.’

‘Good evening,’ she replied, looking at the contents of the tray: a thick shake, a ramekin of pills and a plate of Toast Skagen.

‘I don’t want it,’ Emil said in a low voice.

Måns lowered his chin as he dropped his voice too, innately understanding that they were trying to keep the conversation from her earshot. ‘You’re seven hundred calories down on your daily tally, owing to your missed lunch.’

‘I said, I don’t want it.’ He was speaking through clenched teeth, his gaze hard on the floor.

‘It’s doctor’s orders, I’m afraid, sir.’ Måns was equally firm within his signature deference.

Bell listened in embarrassment, but also interest. This wasn’t a usual staff–boss relationship. Måns was elderly and slow, but he was somehow also everywhere at the right moment, and implacably right.

With an angry sigh, Emil picked up the toast and began to eat, giving his valet a sarcastic ‘happy now?’ look as he chewed.

Måns nodded gratefully. ‘A drink, Miss Bell?’

‘No, thank you. I’m about to go to bed.’

‘Very good.’ He looked back at Emil. ‘Christer will be ready for you in ten minutes, sir.’

Emil just nodded, swallowing every mouthful with resentment.

Måns left the room as silently as he’d entered, and Bell hovered for a moment.

‘He seems very good.’

‘My father’s valet,’ he muttered. ‘He’s been with us for fifty-three years.’

So Måns had watched Emil grow up, then? He didn’t appear to want to talk about it. She changed the subject, feeling his hostility prickle through the room. ‘That’s a lot of CDs you’ve got there,’ she said, casting a bemused gaze over the multitude of discs set into a stacking tower.