I wouldn’t mind holding the fort. I positively wanted to hold the fort. I waited until the front door closed and I saw them—or, at least, their lower halves—walking past the basement window. Then I jumped up and started to prowl. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew it probably wouldn’t be in any of the folders and files I was ploughing through. Maybe in the desk drawers. I yanked the first open and started rummaging among the stationery, finding nothing except envelopes, paper clips, ink cartridges and Post-its. But in the second I came across two vodka bottles, one empty, the other half full. I sat for a minute or so, considering them, then replaced them and pushed the drawer shut. I turned my attention to the computer. I pinged it on and waited for it to load.

The doorbell rang, making me jolt in my chair, my heart pumping wildly in my chest and my throat suddenly dry. I turned off the computer, watched it count down and go blank. The bell rang again. I licked my lips, smoothed my hair, put on a Gwen-expression of calm inquiry and went to answer it.

The man standing on the step seemed surprised to see me. He was quite small and slim, almost gaunt, and dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt. He had hollow cheeks, quick gray eyes and brown hair that was starting to thin.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Who are you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Are we going to go on just asking each other questions? Is Frances there? That’s another.”

“No. I’m helping her out for a bit. I’m Gwen.”

“Johnny.” He reached out a hand and I shook it. He didn’t meet my eyes but looked over my shoulder as if he didn’t believe I was on my own. “Did Frances forget I was coming?”

“She’s a bit distracted by everything. She’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll wait.”

He walked past me, obviously at home in Frances’s office.

“Do you work with Frances?” I asked.

“I sort out most of the food for her.”

“You don’t look like a chef,” I said. It came out sounding rather rude.

He looked down at his suit. “You think I’m pretending? I’ve been kicked upstairs into management, in line with which I’ve brought her a menu for next week. Do you want to see it?”

“I’m not really the person to—”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”