The redhead’s face falls, and Amara knows that she must have been hoping her friend would put up the money. She recognizes that look of humiliation, shot through with resentment. It reminds her painfully of her mother. After Amara’s father died, her mother asked everyone they knew for help, measuring out what she could afford to entertain her guests in exchange. How far would a handful of dates stretch? Would her father’s former patron be offended by the chipped plate? When the visitors were captive in the house, she would recount the hardships of widowhood, holding back tears while trying not to sound too desperate. Amara would sit quietly, head bowed at her mother’s instruction, watching the flow of sympathy and money slowly dry up. By the end, her mother would have accepted a loan from anyone, whatever the terms.

“Forgive me, mistress,” Amara says in a low voice. “But I may be able to help you.” The two women turn in surprise. She tilts her head politely without being too servile. Let them wonder if she is freedwoman or slave. “I act as agent for my master, he understands the little difficulties we can all face. I would be happy to ask if he would be willing to arrange a loan. Discreetly, of course.”

“And why would your master employ a woman as his agent?” It’s the redhead’s stingy companion. Her face is hard and suspicious.

“The contract would be drawn up by his steward,” Amara says, thinking on her feet. She will need to ask Felix for Gallus, not Thraso. No point scaring this pair away at the last moment by turning up with a thug. She smiles at the redhead who seems less hostile than her friend. “But it’s easier for women to do business with each other. We have so many concerns men are incapable of understanding.”

The redhead is twisting her ring, over and over. “You say he is discreet?”

Amara nods. “As am I.”

“I run a fast-food store,” the redhead says. “He can’t be turning up, asking for me. My husband wouldn’t like it.”

“You need only deal with me,” Amara says. She shoots a look at the sour-faced companion who is shaking her head. “That’s the advantage of a female agent.”

“I don’t like it Marcella,” says Sour Face. “Who is this girl? What’s her master’s business?”

“Forgive me,” Amara replies. “But discretion is the cornerstone of my master’s business. Loans are not his main concern, and he takes great care not to expose his clients.” She turns back to Marcella. “If you want to secure a loan, tell me the amount, and I will meet you with the proposed agreement and my master’s steward at the Temple of Apollo tomorrow morning.”