He waited, enjoying the late evening sunshine. He put the radio on, but all he could find were news stories about it all kicking off in Wandsworth now, about how people were throwing bricks and setting light to shops across London, Toff masks everywhere, taken up by rioters as being an easily available way to hide their faces. He switched off the radio and tried to put it all out of his head.

He had one clear aim in mind for this evening, and he had to focus on it.

*   *   *

Ross had interrogated her wardrobe until it failed completely. Neither of her dresses was useful. But it was either those or something she’d wear to work.

Why shouldn’t it be something she’d wear to work? She wanted to find out what he was after, not to make herself more attractive to him.

It was a pity about her and Costain. Everyone else had someone to talk to. Someone they got to go home to at the end of the day. The two of them had nobody, and it was likely to stay that way.

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.