He faked a smile. Liz seemed to delight in shocking people with her outrageous remarks. ‘Any other news?’

“Denton crippled by flu epidemic”,’ she read, then tossed the paper to one side. ‘Graveyards, flu, poky rooms and non-stop rain. This town is just one bag of laughs!’

Again he consulted his watch. Timing was important. He didn’t want to turn up too early. That smacked of in security. A newly promoted detective sergeant shouldn’t appear insecure. He wanted to breeze in at a minute to nine and be shown directly to the Divisional Commander’s office. ‘I’ll have to leave soon.’

‘Let’s have a look at you.’ She stood up and studied him, removing an imaginary speck of fluff from his new charcoal grey Marks and Spencer’s suit. An approving nod. ‘You’ll pass.’ And then she was the old Liz, pressing close to him, her arms holding him tight. ‘I’m sorry I’m such a bitch sometimes.’

‘You’re not!’ he assured her, his arms round her.

She winced. ‘Your pen is sticking in me.’ She unbuttoned his jacket and he could feel her hot, burning body and the arousing smell of her perfume. Good old Liz. Her timing lousy as always.

‘You smell nice,’ she purred, nuzzling her nose against his chin.

He frowned uneasily. At her insistence he had put on that expensive Chanel aftershave she had bought him for Christmas, but he knew it was the wrong thing. He pulled away. ‘I really must go. I’ll be late.’

‘And you will be back at six? None of this working all the hours God sends stuff?’

He smiled. He was now on surer ground. The Denton Divisional Commander’s office had sent him an itemized timetable, detailing almost minute by minute his itinerary for the coming week.