He sidled away, chin aloft and shoulders back to reveal a wide, taut chest and enhance the slimness of his waist in the tailored shirt. He was peacocking. Darpana tried looking at him, and lowered her gaze quickly back to the floor.

‘You know that’s not what I want,’ she said. ‘It would just be simpler, easier to forget, if we could separate this place from our life. You coming here just makes me think about it.’

‘Hey,’ he said, softening, giving her the reward for backing down. ‘It was a one-off. I’m not stupid enough to risk losing you twice, am I?’ He cupped a hand under Darpana’s chin and kissed her softly.

It didn’t take a psychologist to know he was lying about both parts of his assertion. Whatever it was, presumably an infidelity, he’d done it before – and given the opportunity, Connie decided it was entirely possible that he’d do it again. Only a woman in love would be incapable of hearing the silken deception and failing to notice his too-earnest frown and too-concentrated a gaze. He wasn’t a good liar, but with his body and looks he’d probably never needed to perfect the art.

Darpana melted, sickeningly, in his arms, allowing him to wrap her jacket around her, throwing her bag over his shoulder like any well-trained twenty-first-century knight and leading her to the door. Connie cursed and went to the front desk, picking up a leaflet and checking the schedule for Darpana’s next class. Tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. If she could get here early, she might be able to catch the instructor while she was still in the right frame of mind to talk about Elspeth.

Connie’s stomach rumbled. Even vegan food was inviting right now. Enough for one day, she decided. Baarda had returned her text to confirm he would meet her at the hotel. It was a short walk back and the evening was balmy. Trying to piece together her day, from Dr Ailsa Lambert to Melanie Chao, then the grieving Cal Fernycroft and the badly deluded Darpana Chawla, there was a clamouring inside her head for assessment and unravelling. Also for vodka. Maybe with tonic, maybe without. More likely, she decided, without.

Chapter Fifteen

Bar Prince in The Balmoral was refined and hushed. Connie wasn’t sure the ambience was exactly what she needed, but the alcohol definitely was. She’d beaten Baarda there, and given that she was already running a few minutes late, it didn’t bode well for the sort of day he was having. There’d been progress, though, as she’d walked Edinburgh’s streets back to her hotel. Elspeth Dunwoody’s husband had provided a vast digital trove of photos to MIT, and a secure link had been sent to her inbox. Retrieving her laptop from her hotel room, Connie downloaded the files.