The Low Moor Inn was one of those old Dales pubs with thick stone walls to keep out the howling wind, though there was no wind that night, and the huge fireplace was dark and empty, like the jaw of some mythical beast. It was still muggy outside, but inside the pub a pleasant chill came from the thick stone. They were the sort of walls that hoarded winter and emanated its chill throughout summer. Framed paintings of local scenes hung here and there, some of them for sale, with prices written under them. The lighting was dim, and despite being crowded, the pub was reasonably quiet, conversations hushed, laughter muted by the strange and ancient acoustics. The bar was of dark polished wood with rows of colored bottles behind reflected in the long mirror, and a brass footrest ran along the bottom. It was polished so bright you could see your face distorted in it. Wooden chair legs scraped on the rough flagstone floor, and the round wobbly tables were scarred by many a cigarette end. Linda was already waiting when Banks arrived, a glass of white wine in front of her.

“How on earth did you find this place?” she asked, looking around in admiration.

“Just got lucky,” said Banks. “They don’t do food in the evenings, though.”

“That’s all right. I’m not hungry.”

“Another white wine?”

“I’d better stick with this,” said Linda. “Driving.”

Banks got himself a pint of Daleside bitter. It was his first drink of the day, he realized, and the day was almost over. He had expected to have a brief telephone conversation with Linda about tomorrow, but she had seemed on edge and said she needed to get out of the house for a while, so he had suggested they meet at Low Moor.

“It does seem a bit off the beaten track,” said Linda. “Are you worried you’re being followed? Or that I am?”

“Something like that. After all, you’re the celebrity. Someone might spot you.”

Linda laughed. It was a silky, musical sound. “Well, thanks for the compliment, but I’ve never known anyone to recognize a poet in the street.” She glanced around. “Or even in a pub. Maybe it happened to Heaney and Larkin, but not me. Not even Carol Ann Duffy, I shouldn’t think.”

Banks hadn’t heard of Carol Ann Duffy, so he kept quiet about that. “I’m sorry to drag you all the way up here,” he said. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere. I told you, I needed to get out for a while.” Linda tilted her head and looked at him. “I was getting a bit stir-crazy. Besides, would it be the worst thing in the world?”

“What?”

“If they see us together. Find out who I am. The media.”