Driving back afterwards, the blackness had invaded him, filling the pit of his stomach with cold bile. What if he’d been wrong? What if the old man’s taunts had driven him the wrong way? Face it, any drunken sailor would have done what he had. He’d given in to the most basic instinct, he’d become as much of an animal as those bastards he was sworn to kill. His mission had been pure in his mind before he fucked that bitch, but now it felt cluttered and confused. Women, they were always the treacherous ones, dragging men like him down into the shit. Calvet didn’t deserve him, but he’d been weak enough to fall into the trap she’d laid for him with the old man.

The whores didn’t deserve him either, but at least their corruption was honest. They didn’t pretend to be anything other than what they presented to the world, unlike his chosen victims.

He had been pathetic. He had been carried away, let down by his body. He’d betrayed the purity of his cause, and it must never happen again. He had to make the light come back. Only by returning to his mission and carrying it out correctly could he really cleanse himself, he realized as the water streamed over skin rubbed red raw with washing.

Let it be soon.

It felt strange to have Radecki standing in the middle of her living room, looking around him as if he’d never been there before. He’d arrived ten minutes early and she hadn’t quite finished her make-up. It seemed churlish to leave him drumming his heels on the pavement, so Carol had invited him up. It was, she thought, what Caroline would have done.

Now she leaned in towards the bathroom mirror, applying eyeliner. The least convenient thing so far about being Caroline was having to wear much more elaborate make-up than she normally bothered with. Life, in Carol’s opinion, was too short for full slap every day. But Caroline would care too much about how she was perceived to skimp on that.

‘These places are really rather pleasant,’ Tadeusz called from the living room. ‘More spacious than I imagined.’

‘The furnishings aren’t bad either.’

‘No. A bit bland, but rather that than in your face.’

‘It’s a lot better than a hotel,’ Carol said. ‘Much more room and much more privacy. You don’t have housekeeping battering the door down every five minutes wanting to change the towels or check the minibar.’

‘How did you find it?’ he asked.

Careful, Carol, she cautioned herself. ‘My friendly travel agent told me about it. She got someone local to check it out and make the booking for me. She knows the kind of thing I prefer.’ Satisfied with the eyeliner, she reached for the mascara.

‘You travel a lot, then?’