The candlelight brought out the slight wine-flush on Annie’s cheeks and filled her dark eyes with mysterious shadows and reflections. She was still wearing the same business suit she had worn that morning, but she had loosened her hair so that it tumbled over her shoulders in sexy waves. It would probably just brush against the tattoo over her breast.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, looking up and pushing some stray hair back behind one ear.

Perhaps this was the moment, Banks thought, emboldened by his buoyant mood, to take the plunge anyway. “Annie, can I ask you a personal question?”

She arched her eyebrows and Banks sensed a part of her scurry back into the shadows. Too late now. “Of course,” she said. “But I can’t promise to answer it.”

“Fair enough. What are you doing at Harkside?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. It’s a nowhere posting. It’s the kind of place they send naughty boys and girls. You’re bright. You’re keen. You’ve got a future ahead of you if you want it, but you’ll not get the job experience you need at Harkside.”

“I think that’s rather insulting to Inspector Harmond and the others up there, don’t you?”

“Oh, come on, Annie. You know as well as I do that’s where they want to be. It’s their choice. And it’s not an insult that they choose the easy life.”

“Well, maybe it’s what I’ve chosen, too.”

“Is it?”

“I didn’t promise to answer your question.” Her mouth took on a sulky cast Banks hadn’t seen before, the corners of her lips downturned; her fingers drummed on the tablecloth.

“No, you didn’t,” Banks said, leaning toward her. “But let me tell you something. Jimmy Riddle hates my guts. He isn’t in the business of putting me in the way of anything I might find even remotely pleasant. Now, given that he knows who you are, and given that what’s happened between us since could never in a million years fulfill his idea of the circle of hell he thinks he’s cast me into, I find myself wondering why.”

“Or waiting for the punch line?”

“What?”

“Isn’t that what you’re saying? You think something’s wrong. You think there’s some sort of a plot to get you. You think I’m part of it.”

“That’s not what I said,” said Banks, who realized guiltily that the thought had crossed his mind.

Annie turned her head away. Her profile looked stern. “Annie,” he said, after a few moments’ silence, “I’m not saying I haven’t been suspicious. But, believe me, the only reason I’m asking you now is because I’ve come to… Because I’m afraid you’re being used, too.”

She glanced at him, not moving her head, eyes narrowed. “How?”

“I don’t know. What else can I say? Riddle had to have some reason for putting us together, something he thought would be unpleasant for me. I hope you agree that it hasn’t turned out at all that way. Do you blame me for wondering what’s going on?”

Her expression softened a little. She tilted her head. “Perhaps this is it?” she suggested. “What he expected.”

“In what way?”

“That we’d get together somehow, break the rules and get caught. That way he could be rid of both of us.”

“No, that’s not enough. It’s too easy. What we’re doing isn’t… I mean, it’s only the same kind of thing he thought I was doing before. He has a far more sadistic mind than that. And to be honest, I don’t think he’s as clever as that, either. What is it the spies call it, a ‘honey trap’? Jimmy Riddle feels no need to give me honey, only arsenic.”

“Jimmy Riddle didn’t give you anything.”

“Okay. Sorry. You know what I mean.”

Annie shook her head slowly and the shadows danced through her hair. Dessert came, but she left it untouched for a while, then she seemed to come to some kind of decision. She picked up her spoon, tasted a mouthful, then looked at Banks. “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you, but only if you’ll tell me something, too.”

Yorkshire weather has a very ironic sense of occasion. On the eighth of May, 1945, it poured down all morning, despite the fact that this was VE-day. By early afternoon, the rain was tapering off and we were left with clouds and light showers. I closed the shop at lunchtime and Gloria came down from the farm. That afternoon, leaving Mother and Matthew together, the two of us bicycled into Harkside and went to see a matinee of Phantom of the Opera at the Lyric.

All over Harkside we heard excited talk of parties and dances; people on the streets were hanging streamers and putting out flags. All the church bells were ringing. We bumped into some people we knew on the village green and they suggested we come back that evening to the celebration dance at the Mechanics Institute, to be followed by a street party. The Americans from Rowan Woods would be there, they assured us. We said we would try to come as soon as we had done some celebrating in Hobb’s End first.

After tea, the sun lanced through the raggedy black clouds, sending shafts of light into Rowan Woods. Soon, all the clouds had gone and it was as beautiful a warm May evening as you could ever ask for, the grass green and moist from the rain.

Gloria gave me a pair of stockings she had got from PX, and helped me with my makeup. First, we spent an hour or so at the Hobb’s End street party. People had brought little tables and put them together in a row all along High Street. It was a dull affair, though, as there were so few people left in the village, and the whole thing felt more like a wake than a celebration.

Mother sat at one of the tables with her friend, Joyce Maddingley, and she told us to behave ourselves when we slipped away to Harkside with Cynthia Garmen. Matthew refused to come out of the cottage at all; he wouldn’t budge. Mother said not to worry, she would look in on him from time to time and make sure he was comfortable.

The three of us set off, taking the long way around on the roads so we wouldn’t get our ankles and court shoes wet in the grass.

Harkside was much wilder than Hobb’s End. Most of the soldiers and airmen from the nearby bases had come, so there were men in uniform all over the place. From the minute we got to the village green, we were swept into a mad whirl. It didn’t take Gloria long to meet up with Brad. Billy Joe was there with his new girlfriend, and PX was tagging along, too. I felt a sudden pang of missing Charlie, then I tried to enter into the spirit of victory.

First we went to the dance. There was a big band playing Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington and Benny Goodman tunes, and people kept throwing colored streamers across the dance floor.

Out in the streets, between songs, we could hear fireworks and people whooping with joy. At one point, when I was dancing a waltz with Billy Joe and trying to explain how Matthew took up so much of our time, I noticed Gloria and Brad slip outside. It was over an hour before I saw them again, and Gloria had retouched her makeup. She couldn’t hide the ladder in one of her stockings, though. I resolved to say nothing. Since our talk a few days ago, I had thought a lot about Gloria and what she was sacrificing to care for Matthew, and I decided that she deserved her little pleasures, as long as she remained discreet about them.

The band was still playing when we piled out into the street. There was a huge bonfire on the village green and people were singing, dancing and setting off fireworks all around it, just like Guy Fawkes Night. The air was full of the acrid smell of smoke and the sky full of exploding colors. Someone had made up an effigy of Hitler and they were heaving it on top of the fire. Everyone was drunk. I don’t know where Cynthia got to. I was with a group of people, and I could see Gloria and Brad through the flames having an argument. At least they looked as if they were shouting at one another, but I couldn’t hear for all the singing and explosions.