At the door of the apartment he fumbled with his keys and then carefully opened it, standing well back and letting it swing inwards. The landing light spilled into the darkness of the hallway, and at the far end he could see a crack of light framing the door of the living room. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The air was warm and dusty and touched with a faintly familiar scent. He stood perfectly still as the crack of light widened ahead of him and a long shadow reached out across the hall as if to touch him. The figure in the doorway was silhouetted against the light behind. Bannerman couldn’t see her face, but he knew who it was.

‘Hello,’ Sally said. Her voice sounded very small. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Quite a long time. It’s kind of scary sitting alone in a dead man’s house.’

Bannerman slipped out of his coat and dragged it along the length of the hall behind him. He stopped in front of her and looked down into her shadowed face. ‘How did you know I would be here?’

She was disconcerted by his closeness. ‘I didn’t know for sure. I’ve still got a key, so I came up. I found your clothes in the bedroom, so I guessed you’d be back. I . . . I was frightened I might not see you again.’

‘Why? Would that matter to you?’

‘Maybe.’

He smelled her perfume, warm and musky, and sensed her reserve. ‘Why is it so difficult to get close to you?’

There was a very long silence. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last, knowing that she did. Then she looked up a little more brightly. ‘I brought some wine. I put the refrigerator on and left it in there to chill.’ Bannerman lowered his head and let his lips brush hers. It was what she had wanted, and yet still she drew back. ‘I’ll get some glasses.’

He followed her into the living room, puzzled, disappointed, wondering why she had come, and yet glad that she had.