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just trained your memory to do these things.
    Christine said as casually as she could, ‘It looks as though David Knight will be coming. Sue Charles has been using her influence.’
    John Lambert gazed at his brandy and said, carefully neutral, ‘That’s good. He’s a big name in the crime-writing field. You’re doing well to get him here.’
    â€˜Marjorie still wants to get you on the platform with him.’
    He took an unhurried sip of the brandy, allowing himself a moment to savour its warmth in his throat and his chest. He tried not to sound sententious as he said, ‘I should have thought Sue Charles was the one to introduce him, as she’s done all the work to get him here. She might feel quite hurt if you brought in someone who doesn’t even know the man.’
    â€˜I agree.’ Nervousness had made her agreement too prompt, too eager. ‘But Marjorie had a good idea. Maybe even a brilliant one. She thought if you were on the platform for the question and answer section, you’d be able to speak from the point of view of someone fighting real crime. Illustrate the differences between fact and fiction you’re always so anxious to point out when you catch me watching detective series on television.’
    There was a long pause, during which she began to entertain the hope that he was giving the suggestion serious consideration. He rolled what was left of the generous helping of brandy round his glass and finally allowed himself a smile. ‘I wondered why we were having steak and new potatoes and cheesecake and our best Merlot. And all in midweek, too!’
    â€˜You bastard!’ But there was more reluctant admiration than annoyance in the epithet. She grinned at him. ‘You knew all the time, didn’t you? And you just strung me along for all you could get.’
    â€˜I thought it was you who was doing the stringing along,’ he protested mildly. ‘But I should be grateful to you really, for reviving skills that might have atrophied in me. It’s the way you lead a snout along, getting everything he has to give out of him before you fix on a price. I haven’t had to do that much since I reached the exalted heights of chief superintendent.’
    She wasn’t sure she liked to be classed alongside police informers. ‘Was it so obvious?’
    â€˜When the cheesecake followed the steak and the wine, it became so. When the brandy came in with the coffee, I thought I might as well see how far it went. I thought if I played my cards right and had a bit of luck, you might end up seducing me on the rug.’
    â€˜Remember your age and don’t push your luck and your back, John Lambert. Just finish your brandy and then tell me you’ll join in that session on crime writing.’
    â€˜No can do, I’m afraid. Not my scene, literary festivals.’
    â€˜Why not? You’re surprisingly well read, for a copper. Probably more so than most of your audience will be.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t that be “would be”? I’ve already said I’m not doing it.’ He hugged his brandy glass to his chest, like a child who feared that his treat might be removed.
    She played her last card. ‘You can tell Marjorie Dooks then.’
    â€˜No go again. It’s your committee. You can report back to it that you asked me to undertake the task as you said you would and I refused.’
    â€˜Marjorie doesn’t accept no for an answer very easily. Everyone else on that committee seems to be achieving whatever is asked of them.’
    She looked very downcast. She gazed at her feet and her head fell a little to one side. He was suddenly reminded of her as a nineteen-year-old, when some small disappointment had seemed for a moment like the end of her world. Before he knew the thought had formed itself in his head, he found himself saying, ‘I’ll ask Bert Hook about it. It might appeal to him, now that