He shook his head. ‘No. Everyone’s got a story to tell.’ He took another mouthful of whisky, allowing it to slip back easily over his tongue and down his throat so that it left a seductively warm sensation in its wake. ‘The editor of a paper I worked for once used to say that behind every window there’s a story.’

‘Can I ask a question?’

‘Can I stop you?’

‘Why do reporters always ask questions?’

He grinned at her. ‘It’s their job.’

‘Is it?’

‘We’re a nosy breed.’

‘Only you seem quite different from Mr Slater, or some of the other reporters I’ve met.’

‘That’s probably because I am.’

She tutted, partly with irritation, partly with amusement. ‘Why do you always have to be so clever?’

‘I don’t. I’m just enjoying breaking the ice on our relationship.’

‘Oh? We have a relationship now?’

He shrugged. ‘Not yet, maybe.’ He paused. ‘So, anyway. You were going to tell me something about yourself.’

‘Was I?’

‘I think you owe me that, at least. We met during a scene, we’ve travelled together across half of Brussels, had a meal together, and all I know about you is that you’re English and you keep house for Slater. Or do you?’

She sighed and gave in to a reluctant smile. ‘All right. Yes, I’m English. I’m thirty-two years old, unmarried – and, no, that’s not an invitation. I’ve lived in Brussels for two years and teach English at a private college three days a week. On the other days I keep house for Mr Slater and take Tania to and from her special school. I look after her on Sundays and sometimes babysit in the evenings when he goes out with his fancy woman. Is that enough, or would you like my life story from day one?’

Bannerman smiled. ‘Quite talkative when you like. Why do you need to work for Slater when you’ve already got a job?’

‘Because I don’t make enough from teaching alone. Brussels is an expensive place to live.’

He paused. ‘So what’s an attractive young lady like you doing living alone in a place like this?’

‘None of your business.’

Her sudden sharpness surprised him. There was an uneasy silence for some moments, then, ‘Tell me about Slater’s fancy woman.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because I’m asking.’ He drained his glass and saw that Sally’s was empty too and he signalled the ever-watchful waiter to order them another two.

She shrugged. ‘His lady friend is about thirty. A good-looking woman, plenty of money – or do they call it class nowadays? You get the impression she’s a little out of her comfort zone with Mr Slater.’

‘You mean slumming it?’

‘Not exactly slumming it. They’re a strange couple, that’s all. Not exactly a match made in heaven. And she’s not exactly what I would call affectionate.’

‘She’s Belgian?’