‘I’ve been under a lot of strain,’ he said. ‘Elspeth is having triplets.’

Pat gasped. ‘Three?’

‘Yes.’

‘It must have been …’

‘A shock,’ he supplied. ‘Yes, it was. But we’ve adjusted to it. And we’ve got a move on top of it. We’re going to Moray Place.’

‘Moray Place?’ She was silent for a few moments, remembering the invitation that she had received to the nudist picnic there.

‘Yes, it’s a really nice flat. With its own garden.’

The discussion of Moray Place had brought him back from the territory that had so surprised and appalled him. He was back to being Matthew, the husband of Elspeth, and father of triplets. The moment of danger, it seemed, had passed.

‘But let’s not talk about all that,’ he said. ‘I’m really pleased that you can work for me again.’

They had reached the gallery and were standing in front of the glass door at the front. Pat looked in, through the door, and saw, at the back, the figure of Kirsty, who was bending down, looking in one of the print drawers. ‘Matthew?’ Pat began hesitantly.

‘Yes?’

‘That’s her, is it? The other girl working here?’

Matthew glanced into the gallery. ‘Yes, that’s Kirsty.’

Pat suddenly drew Matthew away. ‘I’m not going in,’ she said.

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘I know her,’ said Pat. ‘I know that girl.’

‘So?’

‘I can’t work with her. I just can’t.’ She paused. ‘And you can’t either.’

‘What do you mean I can’t work with her? I’ve been working with her for the last two months.’

Pat shook her head. ‘Matthew, listen to me. Do you know who she is? Clearly not. Kirsty is a big figure in a group called Woman’s Revenge.’

He savoured the name of the organisation: Woman’s Revenge. It spoke to its purpose, he decided; it was not an organisation that really needed a mission statement to clarify anything.

‘They punish men,’ whispered Pat. ‘They’re dangerous.’

‘Then I’m going to have to get rid of her,’ he said. ‘Where’s the problem?’

‘That’s the one thing you can’t do,’ said Pat. ‘Remember? Woman’s Revenge.’

63. Italy At Last

‘Here we are,’ said Angus, looking out of the window at the squat, unexceptional buildings that made up Pisa airport. ‘And you’d think that their control tower would lean – but it doesn’t. How disappointing!’

Domenica, seated next to him, glanced past his shoulder. ‘How amusing!’ she said. ‘The Leaning Control Tower of Pisa.’