Letting the menu drop again, she took in the surroundings. The cafe had been going for a hundred years, and the art deco interior felt both dated and yet still elegant – diners perched on dainty green-seated chairs at white marble-topped tables, their reflections repeated infinitely in the mirrored panelling on the walls. Cups and saucers were stacked in neat towers on the counters and the white-tuniced, black-trousered staff moved about with efficient briskness.

Charlotte looked around for the striking woman from the photographs in the file, but she couldn’t see her. There was a younger girl clearing the outdoor tables and two guys behind the tills unloading a dishwasher, another coming through from the kitchen with a tray. Charlotte leaned forward, hoping to sneak a glimpse, but the door swung too quickly on its hinges, betraying nothing more than a brushed-steel preparation table and black aprons hanging from a hook. Perhaps she wasn’t working a shift today?

One of the guys from behind the counter spotted her and came over, and she placed an order for the porras (a chunkier version of the churros – she needed the carbs), chocolate and an espresso. She carried on watching and waiting for Marina; her heart wasn’t in it but Hugh Farrer’s PA had called. He wanted an update and she needed to give him something, she had to make contact at least.

‘Hi, is Marina Quincy working today?’ she forced herself to ask as the waiter came back with her order a few minutes later. Perhaps she’d been on an earlier shift, she thought. Working as Charlotte overslept . . .

‘Marina? Sure, she is upstairs.’ He jerked his chin towards a staircase.

There was an upstairs? ‘Oh. Well is it okay if I take this up there then?’

The waiter looked irritated but merely shrugged. ‘As you like. You can pay your bill there.’

‘Thanks.’

Trying not to spill the chocolate cup, she climbed the stairs and found another spot to sit at. It was emptier up here – only one other table was taken – and she could instantly tell why, for it was stuffier too. Taking the nearest seat, she scanned the room and immediately found her target. It wasn’t hard, she was standing by the clearing station in the far corner, her back to the room as she wiped down some menus. Charlotte ate, watching as she shuffled the menus into a straight pile, boredom in the movement even from behind.

Finally Marina turned back to the room, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear and tugging on her too-tight shirt. Watching from beneath lowered lashes, Charlotte could see she was every bit as striking in the flesh as her photographs had suggested, although it was easier to gauge her age in the sunlight; those strong looks that looked so dynamic on film were rather more hard-bitten in the flesh.

Catching sight of Charlotte, she came over wearily before she saw, too late, that Charlotte already had a full order before her. ‘Oh—’ she started, looking a little baffled, for no one else was serving up here.