‘I’m going, I’m going.’

He departed quickly. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, this was no time to argue. For some reason, she was ready to do murder. It was unfair, but there was no understanding women.

From Pippa’s window, a curve in the building made the front door visible. She stood there watching until she saw him get into his car. Then she turned and glared at the photograph of her grandparents on the sideboard.

‘All right, all right. I behaved terribly. He came to return my things and I was rude to him. I didn’t even thank him. Why? Why? I don’t know why, but I was suddenly furious with him. How dare he see me naked! Yes, I know it wasn’t his fault; you don’t have to say it. But you should have seen the look on his face when he saw me on display. He didn’t know whether to fancy me or despise me, and I could strangle him for it. Grandpa, stop laughing! It’s not funny. Well, all right. Maybe just a bit. Oh, to blazes with him!’

Down below, Roscoe took a quick glance up, just in time to see her at the window before she backed off. He sat in his car for a moment, pondering.

He’d gained only a brief glimpse inside her bedroom, just enough to see a double bed and observe that it was neatly made and unused. He’d barely registered this but now it came back to him with all its implications.

So she really had refused him, which meant she was a lady of discrimination and taste as well as beauty and glowering temper. Excellent.

Later that night, before going to bed, he went online and looked up Mata Hari:

Dutch, 1876-1917, exotic dancer, artist’s model, circus rider, courtesan, double agent in World War One, executed by firing squad.

Hmm! he thought.

It was a word that occurred to him often in connection with Pippa. With every passing moment he became more convinced that she would fit his plans perfectly.