“THE LICENSE HOLDER HAS DIPLOMATIC STATUS. THAT’S ALL JAMIE MAC can tell me. His own hands are tied. We can’t positively connect it to a crime, so it’s a no-go zone until it’s clearly implicated in something. But it has Rome plates and diplomatic status in France—that much we know.” Simon’s frustration boiled over. He was burrowing through the papers on Lucy’s desk, examining the prints he’d made from Will’s digital camera, and he slapped them down next to him for her to inspect.

“And my abduction doesn’t count?”

“You didn’t press charges, and the existing records can’t even be located for the moment. Very convenient.”

“I suppose we did rather give in to their dictates about keeping the police at arm’s length. Alex was erring on the side of caution. They’re genuinely untouchable then?”

“Bollocks! No one’s that fireproof. I’ll have to try another way, that’s all.”

Lucy ditched the editing she was trying to finish. Her screen saver had long since covered the badly delayed script for her narration. It was useless to fight the distractions. She was lost in Alex’s bay leaves and Diana’s roses and the uncertain proximity of a man smelling of limes. She was at work in body but not in soul, she informed her unexpected visitor when he flew off the sofa in the production office reception at the sight of her. He’d been too impatient to phone, had to speak to her now; and honestly, she welcomed the break.

“Who do you think really funds them, Simon?” She’d lowered her voice.

“The College? Your guess mirrors mine, I’d say. Their alumni have picked up a lot of appointments with the incumbent political order. I’m looking into that. And where the hell is Calvin in all this? He engineers more escapes than Houdini.”

Suddenly Lucy’s cell phone rang, and she jumped. Her senses were keened for the sound, but it was her own handset. She picked up with an embarrassed glance at Simon, but the “Good morning” at the other end made her happy.

“Yes, it is. Is everyone blooming today?”

“Max is in fine fettle, but Siân’s crumbling under the pressure. I’ll have to monitor her. She’d upped or downed something other than wine last night, but I hadn’t the heart to chew her out for it this morning. She feels responsible for some of this mess, and she shouldn’t. Anything on your end?”

“Poor Siân. No, Alex, monastic silence so far—apart from Simon, that is! He’s invaded my desk, doing his best to derail my healthy diet and Protestant work ethic.”

“Oh, give in and have a pastry!” Simon roared this for Alex’s benefit, but instead of the expected protest, he just laughed.