Dora didn’t care where it came from or what it meant. She had her ‘wedding ring’ on now. Her pregnancy, which a moment ago had been a scandal, a disgrace, was now respectable. Her husband was abroad, working. Later, he would probably die in tragic circumstances. She hadn’t decided what those circumstances would be, not yet, but she would think of something. Now, because the pawnbroker had been fair with her, she shook her head politely.

‘The Medici family in Italy. Then the bank of Lombardy. It’s a very ancient tradition, pawnbroking, and I always treat my customers as I would wish to be treated myself. So take my advice, please, miss: get some diamonds next time.’

‘I’m not sure there’s ever going to be a next time,’ said Dora honestly. She felt she’d had it with men. In her experience, all they ever did was fuck with you, knock you about or chase you down over something beyond your control.

‘You’re a lovely girl and there will be,’ said the pawnbroker gallantly.

Dora closed up her suitcase and hefted it onto the floor; it was a little lighter.

‘Well – thanks,’ she said, and was heading for the door when she saw a tall dark-haired man pass in front of the window. She knew that chiselled face, that cold thin mouth.

She stopped breathing. Stopped moving.

It was Donny Maguire.

44

Maybe he hadn’t seen her come in here. She clung to that hope as she stood there, her heart hammering against her chest wall. But . . . what if he had? What if he came in? Then she’d be trapped, cornered.

Feeling her whole body tingling with fear, Dora turned back toward the pawnbroker and said: ‘Do you have a back door I could leave by?’

He looked at her. It was hardly a normal request.

‘It’s just that . . .’ Dora’s mouth was so dry that she had to work some spit up before she could go on . . . ‘It’s just that my ex is looking for me. And I’ve seen him go by the window, and if he finds me I don’t know what he’ll do . . .’

The pawnbroker was still gazing at her.

Oh Christ, Donny could come in here at any second . . .

Then the man raised the counter flap and stood aside. ‘Come through,’ he said.

Dora nearly ran through into the back, dragging her case with her. The pawnbroker lifted a heavy red velvet curtain and they passed through into a little cubbyhole of a room with a desk and chair, piles of rubbish and some tea and coffee making facilities all crammed in. There was a door at the back of the room with an old-fashioned latch. The pawnbroker twitched the curtain closed behind them.

‘Thanks,’ said Dora. ‘I’m really—’

She stopped talking. Out in the shop, the bell over the door had rung. A blast of cold air gusted, stirring the curtain. Someone had just come in.