‘It’s wonderful they removed that grotesque mask, even if for a few minutes. Patrick’s downstairs in the canteen by the way. Waiting for instructions, as he put it.’

Jazz could feel herself blushing. ‘Right. I’d better go and see him, tell him to go.’

‘I think he’s very happy to wait for you. He said he might take himself off around Cambridge for the morning.’

‘There’s no need for him to do that.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Be back in a bit.’

Patrick was sitting at the same table as yesterday, looking bleary-eyed and drinking coffee.

‘Can I be getting you something, Jazz?’

‘No, I’m going straight back up to Dad. I just came to say I really don’t need you to hang around here for the day. I’m not leaving until the consultant has been to see Dad and convinced me he’s all right. I can always get DS Miles to come and collect me. Without the snow, it won’t take long. But thanks very much for being there for me yesterday. I really appreciate it.’

Patrick looked up at her sadly. ‘Jazz, can we not at least arrange a date to get together and talk about what happened last night? I might be sounding like a girl here, but it meant something to me, even if it didn’t to you.’

‘I’ll call you later and let you know how Dad is. We can discuss it then.’ She knew she was sounding cold and businesslike but it was the only way she could cope. She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Patrick, really.’

She turned from him and walked swiftly away, towards the entrance of the hospital. Even as she stepped outside into the fresh blast of cool air, she could feel the sweat on her palms and on her forehead.

Finding a bench, she sat down, took out her mobile and called Miles.

‘How are things?’ he asked immediately, in the tone of voice Jazz recognised as someone expecting bad news.

‘Dad got through the night and he’s a little better this morning.’

‘That’s fantastic! I’m so pleased for you.’

‘Well, there’s a way to go yet, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’d like you to briefly update me on progress. Have you found Millar yet?’

‘No luck so far. We’re combing the city. To be honest, Ma’am, I wonder if he had a bellyful of booze, fell in a ditch somewhere and has frozen to death in this dreadful weather.’

‘If that’s the case, you’ll find him today, now the snow’s thawing. Have you managed to get a copy of Hugh Daneman’s will?’

‘Yes. I spoke to the solicitor in London and he faxed it through. It’s quite a surprise. He’s left everything, bar one other small bequest, to Sebastian Frederiks, the housemaster at St Stephen’s.’

‘Really?’ Jazz knew she would have to process the information before it made sense.

‘Not only that, but Daneman changed his will less than a month ago. Before that, more or less the whole estate had been left to the British Library. There is some money left to Jenny Colman, the headmaster’s secretary. Do you want me to go and see Mr Frederiks? Try and find out more?’