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up the basement stairs. ‘Still, the letter was sent to the firm, so he can’t have your home address.’
    â€˜That’s no deterrent; he’ll wait outside the office if he’s so minded.’ She gave a little shudder.
    â€˜Don’t let it get to you,’ Rona advised, giving her a quick hug. ‘You might be reading more into it than was meant. Write back saying no, and I’m sure he’ll accept it.’
    â€˜I wish I could be,’ Lindsey replied.
    Max Allerdyce, walking along Guild Street on his way to buy new brushes, saw Lindsey emerge from Fullers Walk and turn in the direction of her office. He checked his stride and frowned. She could only have been to the house, he thought. Why hadn’t Rona told him she was expecting her? Perhaps, not content with his own advice, she’d wanted to sound her out about the Harvey book.
    He watched her from the other side of the road as she wended her way through the crowds. It was uncanny how like Rona she was: the same walk, the same smile, the same mannerisms, and, even to him, their voices were indistinguishable over the phone. So how was it, Max wondered for the umpteenth time, that one of them should be the most important person in his life, while the other had, from first acquaintance, made his hackles rise?
    Shrugging aside the conundrum, he turned into the art supplies shop and applied his mind to his purchases.
    Marsborough was a pleasant little market town whose mellow brick houses boasted porticoes, white-framed Georgian windows and neat, railed-off basement areas. Even the shops had bow-windows – though in some cases their preserved frontage concealed the layout of well-known chain-stores – and the market, which had originated centuries ago, was still held each Friday.
    Guild Street was the main shopping area, though stores and restaurants overflowed down most of the adjacent streets. The furniture emporium rounding the corner into Fullers Walk had a walkway above it, enclosed by curved black railings, that gave access to a cluster of boutiques and galleries, and a café from where one could sit and look down on the busy thoroughfare. Farther down Fullers Walk was a florist’s, a bakery, a delicatessen and several smaller outlets, before the shops tailed off to give way to residential houses.
    Two roads led off it: a third of the way down, on the left, Dean’s Crescent curved back up towards Guild Street, and, having crossed it, became Dean’s Crescent North, where Max had his cottage; while a hundred yards farther on, the Walk was bisected by Lightbourne Avenue, where their main house was situated. The restaurant in Dean’s Crescent was, therefore, a convenient rendezvous.
    Rona was greeted effusively by Dino himself. She and Max had a running argument as to whether or not this was his real name, or simply purloined from the Crescent.
    â€˜
Buona sera, signora
!
Signor
Allerdyce is already here.’ He led her, Gus at her heels, to the alcove where they always sat, and as Max rose to greet her, the dog slunk under the table, turned round a couple of times, and settled himself to sleep.
    Max filled her glass from the bottle in the ice bucket.
    â€˜Good day?’ he enquired.
    â€˜So-so.’
    â€˜I gather Lindsey called round?’
    â€˜Now how could you possibly know that?’ she asked incuriously, picking up the menu.
    He tapped his nose. ‘You didn’t mention it on the phone.’
    â€˜I wasn’t expecting her; she just turned up. She’s had a letter from Hugh.’
    Max’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I thought that chapter was closed.’
    â€˜So did she. He says he misses her and wants them to meet.’
    â€˜And how does she feel?’
    â€˜Panicky. She doesn’t want to see him. Have you decided what you’re having?’
    â€˜
Antipasti
and
scaloppini al marsala
.’
    â€˜I think I’ll have the
crostini,
followed by
lasagne al