Idris had been at the Khan residence early to brief Jia about Andrzej Nowak. He’d flicked through the notes he’d prepared for Akbar Khan, his iPad balanced carefully on the breakfast table. His uncle had relied heavily on Idris for such matters. ‘Andrzej Nowak, handsome, young, erudite.’

Jia had raised an eyebrow at the description. ‘Is this a date or business?’ she’d said.

‘He’s the son of a wealthy doctor who came to England in the sixties,’ Idris went on. ‘Dr Nowak married the daughter of a shopkeeper, the owner of a local delicatessen. Andrzej was their middle child. He was sent to boarding school in the south of England, and then his parents decided to move back to Poland. He was a brilliant student, studied history and modern languages at Cambridge, and then he disappeared. We don’t know anything about him between then and his arrival in Yorkshire, including why he is here. He certainly doesn’t need the money.’

‘I guess we’ll find out what he wants this afternoon,’ Jia said, closing her book. She had been making notes; it helped her focus, and looking down at the page meant her thoughts remained her own.

She had been finishing up with Idris when her mother arrived, the perpetual murmur of protection prayers coming from her lips. She blew them over her daughter, her hands passing from her head to her toes. Jia bristled a little. Her mother chose prayer over action every time and it irritated her, but she knew better than to brush her away; besides, they needed whatever higher power there was on their side. Before leaving, Maria had given her a twig, the kind they used to collect as children when they pretended to build bonfires. ‘It’s from the apple tree,’ she said. ‘Baba was going to have it cut down. Its roots are damaging the house.’

Sitting before Andrzej Nowak now, Jia picked up that twig and placed it on the small leather notebook. The talk so far had been inconsequential and Nowak was yet to mention her father, or the business at hand. ‘I am surprised they sent a woman to such an important meeting,’ he said.

‘Do you consider women to be less capable than men?’ she asked.

‘Me? No, I do not. But your men do,’ he said.

Jia pulled the notebook towards her and opened it. She traced her finger down the seam, pushing the pages flat. ‘I think…Mr Nowak, that there has been a misunderstanding…’

‘In that case, please do clarify, Ms Khan.’

‘My brother is young and headstrong,’ she began. ‘He doesn’t always understand our ways –’

Nowak held up his hand to stop her.