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know. The stagecoach brings them every Wednesday.’
    ‘Very funny. No, I mean it’s not one that you’ve probably read. And if you had, you wouldn’t want to admit it.’
    ‘Come on – what is it?’
    ‘I work for the
Daily World News
.’
    She trawled her memory. ‘I … don’t think …’
    ‘It’s like the
Sunday Sport
but more downmarket. I create headlines: GOD DISCOVERED IN KIWI FRUIT ! and ELVIS REINCARNATED AS SCOTTIE DOG ! That was a particularly good one – we even had a photo of a Highland terrier with sunglasses and big sideburns. And my all-time
     favourite: I WAS GLORIA HUNNIFORD’S KINKY WATER-SPORTS SEX SLAVE ! Thankfully we didn’t have a picture to go with that one.’ He stopped, sensing her lack of response. ‘What? What’s the matter?’
    ‘Oh … nothing.’ She paused. ‘Do – do you enjoy it?’
    He considered. ‘No. But it pays the rent, gives me something to get up for in the morning.’ She’d put him on the defensive.
     ‘I still do other bits, just to keep my hand in. Proper stories, features, stuff like that. The odd investigative job.’
    ‘I used to read all that. It was excellent.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘D’you wish you still had your investigative job?’
    Larkin’s face became impassive. ‘There’s a lot of things I still wish I had.’
    Charlotte caught the tone of his voice, the look on his face, and didn’t press him further. Instead she looked at his near-empty
     glass. ‘Another drink?’
    ‘Yeah. Same again, thanks.’ Sitting opposite Charlotte the successful solicitor he suddenly felt the need to justify himself.
     As she went to get up he put his hand on hers. ‘It’s crap. I
know
it’s crap. But that’s the way it has to be, because if I start to enjoy it I might start to forget what happened. And I don’t
     want to.’ He looked down, aware that he had opened up more in a few minutes with Charlotte than he had in years. With an effort
     he pulled himself back. ‘Go and get those drinks.’
    She went to the bar. When she returned they resumed their silence; it was the kind of moment when the conversation could have
     gone deeper, but Larkin felt he had exposed himself enough. So they sipped their drinks and behaved like civilised people.
    Charlotte broke the silence.
    ‘You seeing anyone at the moment?’
    ‘Speaking as a married woman?’
    ‘I’m just asking.’
    ‘Well … I’m sort of with someone, but I’m not really involved. Haven’t been since … well, you know.’
    ‘Would I know this woman?’
    ‘You’re in an inquisitive mood!’
    Charlotte grinned engagingly; Larkin continued. ‘It’s my editor. But she’s only after me for my body.’
    ‘Lucky her.’ Charlotte had a teasing glint in her eye; Larkin knew he was in trouble.
    ‘Sorry. Married women aren’t my style.’
    ‘Oh, you presumptuous thing, you! Can’t a woman give a man a simple compliment? Why do you always have to bring sex into it?’
    Their conversation was getting onto thin ice and Larkin didn’t want to skate on it. He felt himself blush. ‘Was there something
     special you wanted to say to me, Charlotte? I’ve got a feeling you didn’t just summon me here for the pleasure of my company.’
    She smiled weakly. Larkin noticed that she seemedagitated; as if she had a secret and didn’t know who to trust with it.
    ‘Look … I did ask you here today for a reason. I want to ask you a favour.’
    Same old Charlotte
, thought Larkin.
Always getting her money’s worth
.
    But, almost as an afterthought, Charlotte added, ‘And I’ve got some information for you. I wouldn’t expect something for nothing.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’
    ‘After you’ve asked the favour.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What is it then?’
    ‘Well, you’ve kind of answered it in a way, but I still have to ask. I wondered if you were interested in a spot of investigative
     work. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t