Confronted with what might give the answer to my question, I was suddenly cautious. If Russ blundered in now, accusing his wife of an affair, I’d lose my chance of finding out the truth for myself. She would be on her guard for the rest of the week.

‘I think you should be . . . careful, Russ.’

He snorted and took another slug of brandy, some of it dribbling down his chin.

‘Why should I be careful? She hasn’t been.’

‘Because once you ask her, once it’s out there, it’ll always be between you. The genie can’t be put back in the bottle.’

And because you don’t know how much damage a single accusation can cause.

But I do. I know. So does Rowan.

I took another sip of my drink, wondering whether to tell him the truth. Whether he already knew the truth. An ugly, unpleasant truth that I had locked away years ago.

Did you ever wonder why Rowan was single when you met her, Russ? Why she’d split with her first husband? Why a perfectly good relationship ended in anger and tears and bitterness?

Because of an accusation.

Because of me.

Russ leaned back in his chair and exhaled heavily.

‘I knew you’d say something like that.’

‘Why?’

‘Sensible Kate. Always got your scientific head on, haven’t you?’

‘I don’t know about that.’

‘You’re probably right, all the same. I’m supposed to be playing the “good husband”.’ He emphasised the last two words with air quotes. ‘Make sure there’s no impediment to her big deal going through.’

I frowned in the darkness, feeling as though I’d missed something.

‘How would any of that affect her deal?’

He took a drag on his cigarette, the tip glowing cherry red in the darkness.

‘How much has she told you about the potential buyers? Not the division she’ll be absorbed into, but the actual owners at the top of the tree?’

I searched my memory. Rowan had not said much to me at all about this deal, even though it was potentially huge for her career. Why was that? It felt like another example of how far apart we had drifted in recent years. She had talked in generalities about her clients, her business, rather than who she was getting into bed with as part of this deal.

I flinched inwardly. Getting into bed with seemed about right.

‘They’re a US-based multinational, I think?’

‘Correct. Garrison Incorporated is a family-based company, three generations and still going. They’ve run it since the 1950s, market cap somewhere north of eighteen billion dollars, headquartered in Oklahoma City for the last seventy years. And those three generations of Garrisons have something else in common.’

‘What’s that?’

‘God.’

I leaned forward a little, waiting for him to elaborate, but instead he drew heavily on his cigarette again and blew out two thick streams of smoke from his nostrils.