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‘Terry took out another loan. He didn’t even tell me.’ There was a wounded, shocked look in her eyes.
    ‘That’s terrible,’ said Isabel.
    The waiter arrived. He made an elaborate show of placing their drinks in front of them. He was far too solicitous. Had he seen Rose crying?
    ‘You know what else?’ said Rose, after he’d gone.
    She arched a neatly plucked brow, then started talking about how Terry had been acting odd recently. Isabel encouraged Rose to tell her more. After a few minutes she leaned towards Alek. ‘Are you looking forward to playing with Aunty Rosie?’ Alek nodded. She gave his hand a squeeze.
    That was her signal.
    ‘I gotta go,’ she said, She’d hardly touched her coffee.
    ‘Make sure he tells you where he was,’ said Rose.
    ‘He’ll have some amazing explanation,’ she said. ‘Just like the last time.’
    She gave Rose her long-suffering-wife smile.
    ‘Did I tell you Alek likes to sleep with the lights on?’ she said.
    ‘Three times,’ said Rose. ‘Go on. Have a good time. Making up is always the best part.’
    Rose was definitely the most reliable friend she had. Alek would be in good hands.
    ‘Go on,’ said Rose. ‘Call me if there’s a problem.’
    She pecked Alek on the cheek. He looked so cute. His little green weekend bag was under the table. She slid it near Rose. ‘That’s his things. You have my number, don’t you?’ Rose nodded.
    Isabel took the bill.
    ‘This is on me.’ It was the least she could do.
    A blast of bitter wind greeted her as she left the restaurant. She wanted to run all the way back to the house. She could picture Sean waiting there, standing in the hall, smiling, all apologetic.
    A last-minute hitch to the merger could easily have stopped Sean from coming home. The merger was supposed to be a coup for BXH; the first time a Chinese state bank had ever taken a large stake in a major American bank, but God only knew what last-minute hitches might occur or what information was needed on Sean’s software initiative, facial recognition for all customers.
    Sean had said the project would still go ahead, despite the takeover but she had got the distinct impression that he was worried about something, though he hadn’t elaborated about it. He’d been so preoccupied during the last few weeks that they’d hardly spoken more than a few words.
    Even yesterday morning, when he’d called to tell her he’d be back late, he’d been strangely distant.
    ‘Be home, please,’ she mumbled, as the reality of what was happening hit her. She stared at the house as she neared it, looking for any sign that he might be back.
    There wasn’t.

13
    The policeman fixed the blue and white tape stretching from side to side of the alley. The two jumpsuited forensic officers who’d just gone under hadn’t bothered to secure it properly after they’d passed; typical.
    They were probably too excited about the corpse to think about mundane matters.
    It wasn’t often you found a murder victim with these sorts of injuries in Soho. He was glad he didn’t have to stand near the body any more. How anyone could do such a thing to a beautiful woman was beyond all understanding.
    Maybe now, at last, they’d move the body. It was attracting far too much attention. The journalists and the TV crew were a gawping entourage.
    ‘Sorry sir, this area is restricted,’ he said.
    A tall man with close-cropped dark hair and a weary expression pulled an ID card he’d seen only once before out of his pocket. It was in a brown leather wallet. It had the crown insignia and the words SECURITY SERVICES MI5 beneath it.
    ‘May I take your name for the crime scene log, sir?’ said the policeman.
    ‘Henry Mowlam,’ said the man, as he lifted the blue tape and passed underneath.
    Henry went up the stairs slowly. They were narrow, nicotine coloured. He passed the policeman guarding the entrance to the room. This one had a better look at his card, which was a good thing, and then he let