‘—and no doubt it pleased you immensely.’

‘Why should you think such a thing?’

But he would not answer her question. Would not humiliate himself further.

The cab had by now reached Elizabeth Bay. Through the fronds of the palms on the esplanade the moonlight shimmered on the water.

Alasdair rapped on the roof of the cab. ‘Stop here!’ he called, his voice carrying across the still night air all the way to Beare Park and beyond.

Eleanor started, and when the driver jumped down and flung open the door she stood up, stumbling a little and dropping a glove. She climbed down the step, but when the driver stood aside to let Alasdair out he dismissed the man with a hand. ‘I am remaining, you will take me onwards,’ he commanded, and he saw Eleanor turn back in surprise.

The cab lurched forward and Alasdair leaned back in his seat and did not observe as his wife stood in the road and watched him go.

‘Where to?’ asked the driver, who was no stranger to odd behaviour, not least among his fares.

And when they were gone up the hill and the still night air could no longer carry his words, Alasdair leaned out and replied, ‘Woolloomooloo.’

Perhaps he had drunk a little more of Booker-Reid’s brandy than he had realised. The cab lurched from pothole to pothole in the streets nearing the wharves, and Alasdair found it increasingly difficult to retain his seat.

‘Here, stop here,’ he called, having only a vague sense that this was the right neighbourhood but not wishing to prolong the ride in the cab. He climbed down and waited, standing in the middle of the road as the cab trundled away and was gone into the night.

He turned about him to get his bearings, picking out the bulky silhouettes of the wharves and the warehouses that lined the dockside, listening to the mournful calls of the ships entering and leaving the harbour. He set off confidently, the blood running faster in his veins. It was good to be outside finally. He sucked in the crisp, salt-rich air.