The morning light was like an electrical current jolting directly through his eyeballs to his brain. St James felt his body jerk.

'Let me get your medicine,' Cotter said. He paused by the bed long enough to pour St James a cup of tea before he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

Alone, St James dragged himself into a sitting position, wincing at the degree to which sounds were magnified by the pounding in his skull. The closing of the medicine-cabinet was a rifle shot, water running into the bath a locomotive roar. Cotter returned, bottle in hand.

'Two of these'll do it.' He administered the tablets and said nothing more until St James had swallowed them. Then casually he asked, 'See Deb last night?'

As if the answer didn't really matter to him, Cotter returned to the bathroom where, St James knew, he would test the heat of the water pouring into the tub. This was a completely unnecessary civility, an act giving credence to the manner in which Cotter had asked his question in the first place. He was playing the servant-and-master game, his words and actions implying a disinterest which he didn't feel.

St James sugared his tea heavily and swallowed several mouthfuls. He leaned back against the pillows, waiting for the medicine to take effect.

Cotter reappeared at the bathroom door.

'Yes. I saw her.'

'A bit different, wouldn't you say?'

'That's to be expected. She's been gone a long time.' St James added more tea to his cup. He forced himself to meet the other man's eyes. The determination written across Cotter's face told him that if he said anything more he would be extending a blanket invitation to the sort of revelations he would rather not hear.

But Cotter didn't move from the doorway. It was a conversational impasse. St James surrendered. 'What is it?'

'Lord Asherton and Deb.' Cotter smoothed back his sparse hair. 'I knew that Deb would give 'erself to a man one day, Mr St James. I'm no fool. But knowing 'ow she always felt about… well, I suppose I'd thought that…' Cotter's confidence seemed to dwindle momentarily. He picked at a speck of lint on his sleeve. 'I'm that worried about 'er. What's a man like Lord Asherton want with Deb?'