“I expect she really is at the beautician, Barney.”

“Yeah?” Tozer smiled back at Harding. “You’re probably right.”

He was right. There was no doubt about it. The real doubt surrounded the question of whether Barney knew why Harding could be so certain on the point. And that doubt seemed to have been growing recently, to a degree guilt alone could not explain.

“Black, no sugar?” They had reached the kitchen, fitted out like the lounge in the very latest style and its most expensive version.

“Please.”

Tozer flicked a couple of switches above the slate worktop. A kettle roared into life. A grinder devoured a hopperful of beans. In less than a minute, the coffee was brewing. Tozer lit a cigarette during the interval, not troubling to offer one to Harding, a confirmed non-smoker.

“Planning something new for the garden, Barney?”

“Hardly. That’s Carol’s province.”

“I just thought-”

“I didn’t ask you round to discuss bloody pot plants.”

“No. I guessed not.”

“I bet you did.” Tozer looked thoughtfully at him through a plume of cigarette smoke. “What’s old Barney up to now, hey? What bee has he got in his bonnet?” He chuckled, pushed down the plunger on the cafetière and poured their coffees, adding sugar to his own. “Let’s sit down.”

They settled round a corner of the large table at the far end of the room. Harding sipped his coffee, which was as excellent as ever-Colombian, he reckoned. Tozer flicked ash into a wooden ashtray the diameter of a dinner plate and glanced at his watch. There was in the movement the first hint of nervousness on his part.

“I’m ever so slightly pushed for time, actually, Tim. Tony’s due in an hour. We’re off on a ’ forty-eight to Abu Dhabi.” Tony Whybrow, who had occasionally and somewhat halfheartedly joined them on their periodic boys’ nights out, was Starburst’s finance director and the only other representative of the company Harding had ever actually met. “Work, work, work, hey?”

“But money, money, money.”

“Yeah. Anyway, like I say…” Tozer took another puff at his cigarette and started on the coffee. “Fact is, I need to ask you a favour.”

“Go ahead.”

“Thing is… Have I ever mentioned my brother?”

Had he? Harding had asked himself exactly that question during the drive from Villefranche. “Well, I know you have a brother, so… either you or Carol…”

“Humphrey. Humphrey and Barnabas, hey? Bloody stupid names. But Barney’s OK. Suits me, so I’ve been told. As for Humphrey, I used to call him Humpty when we were children. He’s five years older than me. I couldn’t get my mouth round the sound, see? And then there was the nursery rhyme. So, I thought Humpty was…” Tozer shrugged. “Funny.”

“Where does Humphrey live?”

“Humph. That’s what I settled for in the end. He’s still stuck in Penzance.” Tozer’s roots in west Cornwall had definitely been mentioned to Harding, more than once. “Have you even been to Penzance, Tim? I can’t remember if I’ve asked you.”

“Neither can I. But, yeah, I have. For what it’s worth. A family holiday in Cornwall when I was ten. We stayed near Land’s End. Sennen Cove. Must have gone through Penzance, but all I can recollect is a view of St. Michael’s Mount. Does that count?”

“Bet it rained a lot.”

“It did, as a matter of fact.”

“No surprise there.”

“So, this favour… has to do with… Humph?”

“Yeah. A narrow-minded misery-guts if ever there was one. But…” Tozer gazed past Harding into some unfocused vision of his childhood. “He is my flesh and blood.” His face creased into a rueful smile. “Worse luck.”

“And…”

“He’s asked for my help. My… personal help. That’s some kind of world record, so I don’t want to disappoint him. But it would mean I’d have to go to Penzance. Right away.”

“And you have business in Abu Dhabi?”

“Oh, that could be postponed. No, no. That’s not the problem. It’s a… tax thing.” Tozer lowered his voice, as if, despite the fact that there was no one else in the apartment, he was worried about being overheard. “I’ve used up my ninety-one days in the UK this fiscal year. I can’t set foot in Penzance, or anywhere else in the old country, before April sixth. It’s a nono. An absolute no-can-do. But Humph’ll just think I’m making an excuse if I turn him down because of that.”

“You will have to turn him down, though, won’t you?”

“As it stands, yeah. But… there’s such a thing as cushioning the blow. What I really need… is for someone to go in my place.” Tozer smiled cautiously at Harding. “Know anyone who might be available?”

Harding returned the smile. “You mean me?”

“It’ll only take a few days. A week at most. I’ll cover all your expenses. You can even bill me for your time at garden maintenance rates. It’s the quietest time of the year for you anyway. Look on it as a second Cornish holiday. You might get better weather this time round.”

“I can’t just drop everything and-”

“Come on. You’re always singing young Luc’s praises. I’ll bet he could cope without you for a month, let alone a week.”

That much was undeniable. Luc could always be relied upon and would probably relish the extra responsibility. “Well, maybe. But you haven’t told me what Humph wants help with yet.”

“It’s no big deal, believe me. It just needs… handling properly.”

“Wouldn’t Carol be a better choice?”

“She can’t stick Humph at any price. And vice versa. It’d be better to turn him down flat than send Carol. But it has to be somebody I can trust, obviously. And you’d be surprised how few of my so-called friends I do trust. But there is you, Tim.” Tozer stubbed out his cigarette and looked Harding in the eye. “You should be flattered.”

“Well, I am, of course. But…”

“I still haven’t told you what’s involved.” Tozer grinned. “Have I?”

You’re going, then?” said Carol, breaking the post-coital silence into which they had descended. Sex had failed to distract her for long from the subject of the strange mission Harding had agreed to undertake on her husband’s behalf. It was in Harding’s mind also as he lay in bed with her at his apartment in Villefranche late that afternoon. It could hardly not be.

Theoretically, of course, he could have joined Carol at the penthouse after Barney’s departure for the Gulf. In some ways, it would have been more convenient, as it might often have been in the past, given the frequency of Barney’s absences. But some scruple neither cared to put into words had always deterred them. The apartment in Villefranche was their territory. And they did not stray from it.

“I thought you might be able to talk your way out of it.”

“Not a chance.”

“How hard did you try?” Carol propped herself up on one elbow and squinted slightly as she stared at him. Her face was still faintly flushed from their exertions and her highlighted brown hair tousled, but the lubricious twinkle he had been pleased to notice in her eye earlier had turned to a steely gleam.

“As hard as I could in the circumstances. You know there was no way I could turn him down.”

“I suppose not.” Carol sighed and flopped back down on the pillow. “And what exactly does he want you to do?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Told me some of it, you mean. I want to hear the whole thing.”

“OK. His uncle-their uncle, Barney and Humph’s-died just before Christmas.”

“I know. Uncle Gabriel. Lived in Penzance in a house full of junk.”

“Junk-or valuable antiques. Take your pick. The locals will be able to next week when the contents are auctioned. It appears Barney’s uncle specified in his will that’s how his possessions were to be disposed of. No bequests to relatives. No opportunity for them to help themselves to a memento of the old boy. Just… everything to the highest bidder. Proceeds to charity… or somesuch.”