She finally decided on new jeans. A polo shirt like the one she’d worn to work. At least it wasn’t the same shirt. She tried things with her hair. She undid a couple of buttons.

She did them up again just as the intercom buzzed. He was three minutes early.

*   *   *

They took the tube to Chancery Lane and walked up the Gray’s Inn Road to an Italian restaurant, where Costain had booked a table outside. He couldn’t stop feeling nervous. More than nervous. Why? There were high stakes, sure, but he was used to that. It wasn’t as if tonight was definitely going to be the big pay-off, that she’d immediately trust him and tell him what he wanted to hear. No, this was an undercover job; this would take weeks of slowly earning her trust. Only then to betray that trust, if she did have access to what he thought she did.

He looked sidelong at her face as they walked. That betrayal would be a terrible thing, but he had to do it. He had no choice. He was trying not to notice how tight those jeans were. Being attracted to her made what he was planning to do feel a lot worse.

He was aware they’d been silent for a long time. No small talk, which seemed fine by her. They reached the restaurant and were welcomed and seated by staff who seemed very pleased to have paying customers. He looked at her poker face again across the table. It wasn’t as if he’d actually been on many dates; of course, this wasn’t a real date. He had an objective here. So. Small talk. ‘I used to come here a lot,’ he said. ‘The food’s good, it’s an Italian family place.’

‘Sure,’ said Ross. It was almost a shrug.

The waiter arrived and they ordered wine. When it arrived it was very welcome.

Costain pointed to his glass, worried that she might have thought he was going to drink drive. The reflex to be good, every moment, was deeply programmed into him now. ‘I can always take a taxi when we get back to yours.’

She frowned, and he realized that she thought he meant he was already thinking about what might happen at the end of the evening. He suppressed an urge to explain and decided to move on to other topics. ‘So—’

‘Do you mean you brought girls here?’

He closed his mouth. Then opened it again. ‘No. Well, yeah. Maybe sometimes. Actually, it was usually just me. When I was undercover.’

‘But sometimes?’

‘Yeah.’ He found he’d said it almost as a question, almost as if he was asking her if that was okay.

‘Where are you from? What did your parents do?’