‘It’s my surname,’ he told her.

‘What’s your first name?’

‘Everyone just calls me Vaughn.’

Connie frowned. ‘But what’s your first name?’

‘Claude,’ he said shyly.

‘That’s such a classy name.’ Connie smiled as if a strong suspicion had been confirmed in her mind. ‘Classy Claude.’

‘Vaughn likes people to use his surname,’ Sasha told her.

Her DCI hated being called Claude, and Sasha had known him to blow his top in the office when someone had been careless enough to mention it. But now he just smiled.

‘Well.’ Vaughn stood to bring over a stool and Connie plonked herself down, placing her chin on the heel of her hand. A lock of long hair bounced over one eye as she gazed at him. ‘You’re always going to be Claude to me.’

‘Vaughn is my boss,’ Sasha warned her sister.

‘Well, Claude, I’m Constance, but you can call me Connie.’

As she reached into her massive bag to take out a tissue and dab her perspiring face, Vaughn finished his pint, much to Sasha’s relief.

‘Anyway,’ he said, rising. ‘I had better shoot.’

Connie reached out, aghast. ‘You can’t go yet, we haven’t spoken properly.’

‘I’ve things to do,’ said Vaughn vaguely, although Sasha knew he was probably going to sit in his hotel room and be miserable.

‘What important things do you have to do?’ demanded Connie. ‘Tell me one thing.’

Vaughn considered the question, but, it seemed to Sasha, not very hard, because he was unable to come up with a reply.

‘I’ve just got here, and if you don’t mind me saying, I think it’s very rude that you’re going.’

‘He’s got to go, Con,’ insisted Sasha with a tense smile.

‘I think you should have another drink. In fact’ – Connie tapped the top of his hand – ‘if you were a gentleman, you would buy me one.’

‘Connie,’ snapped Sasha. ‘He wants to go.’

‘I’m going to have a glass of wine and you should have another…’ She flapped at his empty glass. ‘Whatever that is you’re drinking. Better still, you have wine so we can split a bottle.’ She gestured at Sasha. ‘My sister is welcome to join us, but I’ll take a guess that she’s probably going to sit there with a face like a slapped arse – I expect you know that face very well from work – and tut at everything I do or say. So I could really do with some decent company, Claude.’

Vaughn glanced at Sasha, looking for guidance, and she gave him a tense look, as if to say, Please go.

‘I’ll get a bottle then,’ Vaughn said, and Sasha pretended to look pleased. ‘Sasha?’

She put her hand over her small glass. ‘Not for me, I’m driving.’

‘Of course you are,’ said Connie with great forbearance, and touched Vaughn’s hand again. ‘They do a very nice Cab Sav here.’

As soon as he had gone to the bar, Sasha asked her sister as calmly as possible – their mother had always urged her not to get aggressive with her older sister, because, she said, Connie was sensitive – ‘I thought we were going to go eat?’