There were several things worrying Matthew. First, there was the gallery, where he felt that he had got himself into an impossible situation with his new assistant, Kirsty – she of the extraordinarily tight jeans. Even if he had not spoken to her about it, he was not satisfied with her work; he felt that she discouraged, rather than encouraged, customers by what Angus Lordie had described as her ‘rather overpowering presence’. This was, of course, a polite way of saying that she was a flirt, and this meant that when couples came into the gallery to look round, inevitably the wife would cut short the visit in order to get the husband away. Yet although he was convinced that she was not suited to the job, Pat had also warned him that it would be impossible to get rid of her because of her membership of some obscure and frightening organisation dedicated to the intimidation of men.

That was one issue. The other was the question of the flat that he had purchased on Moray Place and into which he and Elspeth would shortly be moving. Bruce’s report on this flat had been discouraging in the extreme. Not only did he suggest that Matthew had grossly overpaid for the new property, but he also claimed that the unauthorised removal of an internal wall by the previous owner had left the ceiling being effectively supported by nothing but a large Chinese cabinet. Matthew had not mentioned this to Elspeth, with the result that the knowledge had become even more burdensome to him. What if Elspeth decided to move the Chinese cabinet, as well she might? Would that bring down the ceiling and, on the domino principle, the neighbouring flat and then all of Moray Place? Surely not; and yet he could not bring himself to confess to her that he had made a foolish mistake.

Elspeth noticed the pillow over his head. ‘Matthew?’

There was a muffled sound from the bed.

‘Matthew, what’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?’

From underneath the pillow, Matthew let out a groan. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I mean, no. Or not quite. Oh, Elspeth …’

He flung the pillow aside and stared up at his wife. There were tears in his eyes.

‘Oh, Matthew!’ She bent down and embraced him where he lay. ‘My darling Matthew! You’re crying. My darling, what is it?’