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landscape of the night. Impatient to discuss her theories,
Beatrice was irritated to get no response from her neighbour's bell. On a
Saturday afternoon, with a new boyfriend in tow, Adrian could be anywhere.
Probably on the South Bank, dallying in a second-hand bookshop, pottering about
in a craft market or enjoying good food by the river. The fact that she could
have been doing the same things in a Devon village only made it worse. She
stomped upstairs and started repacking her weekend bag. Greece, in November.
What to wear? Which essential medicinal products to take?
    She yanked out an article on wine she'd intended to share
with Matthew and her conscience pricked. However, the conviction she'd arrived
at on the train precluded a call. She sent a brief, upbeat text message
assuring him of her safe arrival and opened the bathroom cabinet to find the
Imodium.
     
     
    Chapter 5
    Unable to settle to television, book or case file,
Beatrice opted for the Internet. Ostensibly research, but actually distraction.
Images of Greek islands proved rather alluring. So much so that the doorbell
gave her a real start. She picked up the intercom.
    "Hello?"
    "Oh, Beatrice, it is you. That's a relief. We saw the
light and assumed the worst. Why are you back so soon?"
    "Hello, Adrian. I have to work, unfortunately. What are
you two up to tonight?"
    "Clubbing, I think, but not till later. Now we're
having cheese, crackers, a rich Bordeaux and Strictly Come Dancing . Want
to join us?"
    Beatrice weighed her loathing of reality TV against her urge
to talk.
    "I'll have a look in the cupboards to see what I can
contribute. Then I’ll be down in two shakes of a ham’s tail. Are you sure I’m
not intruding?"
    “Don’t be silly. Hurry up. I want to show you my new hair.”
    Holger opened the door and stooped to kiss Beatrice on
both cheeks. He wore a tight lilac T-shirt with a tea-towel flopped over his
shoulder and smelt of a crisp sea-breeze shower gel. He unbent to his full
height and pointed with a frown at her carrier bag.
    "You didn't need to bring anything. We have more than
enough. Are you fine, Beatrice?"
    She nodded. "Yes. I’m only back here because I have to
fly to Greece in the morning. Did you have a lovely day exploring the capital?"
    Holger gestured for her to follow him inside. "Perfect.
The weather is good for photographs and I love to spend time in markets and art
galleries."
    "Me too. Did you go to Camden?"
    "No, Adrian said it was too touristy. We went to
Borough and Spitalfields."
    His muscular bulk blocked out the light as they entered the
living-room.
    "Our guest is here!" called Holger, offering to
take her bag.
    "Hello, Beatrice! Come in and let me pour you a
glass." Adrian, wearing a paisley-print shirt and jeans, stood at the
kitchen island, uncorking a bottle of wine. His dark hair was spiked up into a
mini-quiff reminding her of a young Tony Curtis.
    "Hello you. Nice haircut. You look rather rockabilly.”
    “Do you like it? Couldn’t do the whole James Dean thing but
I fancied going a bit ‘collar up’ for a while. What’s in the bag?”
    “I brought oatcakes, Twiglets, some Godminster and one of
Matthew's recommendations. It's a Nuit Saint Georges ."
    "You didn't need to bring anything, but seeing as you
did, I'm glad it's something divine. Now sit down and tell me what happened.
You haven't fallen out with Matthew, I hope?"
    "No, no. Quite the opposite. Hamilton summoned me back
so that I can be in Greece by tomorrow. A death on a cruise ship needs
investigating. Looks straightforward enough so should only take a couple of
days."
    Adrian handed her a glass and pecked her on both cheeks.
"Let's toast! To a glorious Sunday, whether in the East End, a Devon
village or a Greek beach. Cheers!"
    They repeated the toast, clinked glasses and drank. The wine
was earthy and rich, and strangely soothing.
    Holger gestured towards the living-room with his glass.
"You two go and sit down. I'll add Beatrice's things and