To marry her, of course. The response came like a reflex, but St James didn't voice it even though he knew that doing so would give Cotter the peace of mind he sought. Instead, he found himself wanting to voice warnings of Lynley's character. How amusing it would be to limn his old friend as a Dorian Gray. The desire disgusted him. He settled on saying, 'It's probably not what you think.'

Cotter ran his finger down the door-jamb as if testing for dust. He nodded, but his face remained unconvinced.

St James reached for his crutches and swung himself to his feet. He headed across the room, hoping Cotter would see this activity as a conclusion to their discussion. But his design was foiled.

'Deb's got 'erself a flat in Paddington. Did she tell you that? Lord Asherton's keeping the girl like she was some tart.'

'Surely not,' St James replied and belted on the dressing-gown that Cotter handed him.

'What money's she got, then?' Cotter demanded. 'How else is it paid for, if not by 'im?'

St James made his way to the bathroom where the rush of water told him that Cotter – in his agitation – had forgotten that the tub was rapidly filling. He turned off the taps and sought a way to put the discussion to an end.

'Then, you must talk to her, Cotter, if that's what you think. Set your mind at rest.'

'What I think? It's what you think as well and there's no denying it. I c'n see it plain as plain on your face.' Cotter warmed to his topic. 'I tried talking with the girl. But that was no good. She was off with 'im last night before I'd the chance. And off again this morning as well.'

'Already? With Tommy?'