With this in mind, Frend had decided that, until the Vuksans’ difficulties were resolved, it might be best if he took steps to safeguard his family and himself. His daughter, he felt, was reasonably secure in London, where she had been living under her mother’s name since moving to England to study law. Even had he attempted to contact Pia in order to share his concerns, he was certain she would have laughed at him, assuming she agreed to accept his call to begin with. In any case, he doubted she would be willing to alter her routine on her father’s say so, even at risk to herself. He suspected she would prefer to die just to spite him.

His wife was another matter; his mistress, too, come to think of it. He would deal with Radka later, although there wasn’t much he could do other than advise her to be careful. She was as willful as his daughter – which was hardly surprising, given how close in age they were – and would be unlikely to entrust the running of her boutique to an assistant for more than a day or two.

Anyway, Frend thought it more likely that his immediate family would be the preferred targets: mistresses, however lovely, were temporary, but family was for life. Yet in the reptile part of his brain, Frend debated how he might act should Radka or Mina be used against him. Objectively, he would be prepared to renounce either or both of them for his own safety, which was intimately connected to the continued safety of the Vuksans, whom he could not betray. The brothers might have been isolated and grievously weakened, but they were not without friends. Were he to hand them over to their enemies, word would get out, and Frend’s days would be numbered. Only for Pia would Frend be willing to sacrifice himself, and even then with a degree of understandable vacillation …

He went downstairs and accepted the glass from Mina. He then led her to the kitchen, where he spoke with her quietly and seriously for ten minutes. He did not share with her every detail of the problem, but told her enough to make her understand the necessity of absenting herself from their home. He was surprised that she did not complain, or even blame him for this enforced exile. She merely accepted with a shrug, and he saw in her face that their relationship, such as it was, had finally reached its belated end.

‘I always knew you were crooked,’ she said. ‘I knew it from the day we met.’ Curiously, she did not use the word unehrlich, meaning dishonest, instead opting for verkrümmt, as in bent or warped, as though his perfidy was so ingrained as to have manifested itself physically. ‘But,’ she continued, ‘perhaps I, too, was guilty. I enjoyed our lifestyle. I just chose not to ask how we could afford it.’

She looked around the kitchen.