The air in the flat felt stale, despairing. Laure walked across to the window and pushed it further open. She held an advantage. May knew it wasn’t only the killing of the interview that had made her plead for it. Killing the interview meant that May would probably have to say goodbye to Nic.

She kept her back turned on May. ‘I bloody hope the dos and don’ts of my medical insurance were worth it.’

‘Actually, they were very boring.’

One never got used to being spied on. Never and, almost certainly, May would know nothing of that. There were techniques to combat it and scrutinizing someone from top to toe worked well when it was advisable to disconcert a watcher. Laure turned around and allowed her gaze travel up the long legs, the skinny hips and white lace T-shirt up to the clever, almost beautiful but not quite, features and the mass of fair hair – raking over the combination of the confident and vulnerable that May presented.

‘You’re very determined,’ she said.

‘Yes. I am.’

‘I wonder how much?’ said Laure, more to herself than May. ‘How much is your determination made up of skulduggery?’

May lifted the hand holding the phone in a gesture of surrender. ‘It’s fine to hate me.’

‘Just so there’s no mistake, I repeat that the ticket in the frame belongs to me.’

‘Of course.’

Laure handed over May’s phone. May took it, picked up her rucksack and went.

Kočka got up, stretched and resettled.

Laure sat down beside her, held out a hand and was annoyed to see that it was shaking.

It didn’t always happen, thank God, and it had got better as she grew older. But, from time to time, it took only a small invasion of her private world, a rattled-up routine, for her to be back running through the streets, heart frantic beneath her ribcage. Running once again from the grey men and leather-jacketed goons who watched and preyed and pounced.

Those flashing images had their effect. Countering them was hard, even years later, but she had learnt to force herself to turn her mind around.

So… it was healing to remember being with Tomas down by the Vltava, almost delirious with happiness. He had drawn her close and she inhaled the aphrodisiacal scent of male sweat and tobacco. He bent over to kiss her and it seemed to Laure that what was flowing through her veins was liquid joy.

Then her disobedient thoughts swooped down on the old, unanswered nagging questions.

Did Tomas ever make it to the railway station? Had he ever held his railway ticket to freedom, even for a few seconds? What would have been worse? To reach the train, only to be dragged off? Or never even getting within spitting distance of it?