He was sad about Bella, sad about people trafficking, and – yes – sad about Alison too.

He remembered the first time he saw her, debating furiously at the Cambridge Law Society. He had been so impressed with the fire in her eyes, her utter determination to make the world a better place, her height, her slim figure, her silky black hair. There was a kind of ice-queen reserve that everybody had wanted to crack, back in those days, when intelligence was valued above all, and Andy had gone out of his way to woo her, to get underneath that slightly stern façade. Finally, eventually, it had happened.

They’d been walking along Trinity Street, arguing passionately about Descartes, when it had started snowing. Spontaneously, he had taken her cold hands in both of his, intending to warm them up. She had looked up at him, startled, and he had bent his head to kiss her.

Just as he was remembering their first kiss, Alison walked into the pub. She’d kept her figure, and was looking very tall and slim in her impeccably tailored trouser suit. As she got closer, though, Andy saw how pinched and scrawny she really was. There were dark circles under her eyes, and two deep furrows between them.

‘Alison, hi.’ He stood up to greet her, awkwardly.

‘Hi, Andy. Thanks for coming to see me. I – erm – well, it’s good of you, anyway.’

This was the closest Alison could get to offering an apology, Andy realized, but he wasn’t holding it against her. In fact, he just felt concerned about how haggard she looked.

‘What would you like to drink?’

‘A glass of red wine, please. As large as they can make it.’

Alison had never been much of a drinker, and Andy, realizing the extent of her turmoil, returned as quickly as he could. Which was easier said than done, as this pub was full of Old Etonian bankers and their hair-flicking girlfriends, who thought nothing of barging their way in front of any other customers waiting to get served.

‘Thanks.’ Alison smiled briefly as she took the glass from him.

‘So what’s the problem, and what can I do to help?’ Andy was conscious that Bella was waiting for him, and however much she had annoyed him this evening, he didn’t want to upset her unnecessarily.

So Alison started to tell him, in as much detail as she was legally allowed. As she spoke, Andy realized that the people she was defending were closely connected to the ones he’d been investigating for his paper. They talked for the best part of an hour, becoming increasingly excited with every new revelation. At last, the final piece of the jigsaw fell into place, and Andy knew, with absolute clarity, the identity of the big guy, the man behind the whole revolting operation.

‘Oh, my God,’ he said slowly. ‘It has to be Alexei Lubanov.’ He was referring to a Russian billionaire who had been living in London for the past ten years or so. His constant presence on the charity-ball and fundraising-gala scene, his insanely glamorous wife always at his side, meant that he was practically a household name.