“If Christine is half as beautiful as you, Joseph is a very lucky man.” Petrovitch used his yellowed teeth to flash her a suggestive grin. “Isn’t that right, Joseph?”

“Joseph?” Newcomen seemed to have forgotten his first name. “Oh, yes. Absolutely. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”

It was pure corn, but Mrs Logan had spent a lifetime starved of compliments. Her neck flushed pink behind her string of pearls, and she allowed the perfume from the lilies to reach her nose.

“They’re lovely, Dr Petrovitch.”

“And I must apologise for the intrusion. Joseph’s been badly let down by a series of administrative errors entirely beyond his control, and rather than see him break his promise to Christine, I suggested I throw myself on your mercy for the duration of their date.”

They were still standing on the doorstep. While their faces were being warmed by the air spilling out from the hall, their backs were collecting frost.

“Boys,” said Mrs Logan. “You should come in. I know Christine has spent for ever getting ready.”

The carpet was deep enough to drown in and so clean it shone. Petrovitch didn’t feel comfortable walking in it, but since his shoes were so new, they hadn’t had time to get dirty.

“I’m afraid we’ve had to change our plans to accommodate Dr Petrovitch’s status,” said Newcomen. “It’s a condition of his visa that he’s accompanied at all times by a federal officer, which means I can’t take Christine to a restaurant as I’d wanted. So on, uh, Dr Petrovitch’s recommendation, I brought some of the restaurant with me. If it’s okay, I can take the hamper down to the summer house, and maybe he can wait up at the main house with the staff.”

“It’s an imposition,” said Petrovitch, “but as a married man, I’m all for encouraging young love.”

“You’re married, Dr Petrovitch?” She seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps monsters didn’t get married.

“To the only woman who would have me, Mrs Logan.” His eyes were drawn to the staircase behind her. Logan was walking slowly down towards them, his skin dark and his face set.

“Heating’s off in the summer house,” he declared. “Christine’ll freeze out there, so forget it.”

“Oh, Teddy,” said Mrs Logan, then stopped abruptly. Whatever helpful suggestion she’d been about to make died on her lips. One look from her husband was all it took.

Petrovitch leaned towards Newcomen. “Leave the scum-sucking pond life to me,” he murmured. “I’ve got previous on this.”

Newcomen’s face, already pale, turned white. “Mr Logan, can I introduce…”

“I know who he is.” Logan reached the bottom of the stairs and advanced on Petrovitch. “You’ve got a nerve bringing this… man here. We’re decent, God-fearing people, Joseph Newcomen, and I won’t have him under my roof.”

Logan was a big man: solid, round even. Taller than Petrovitch, he had presence and confidence, and he was on home ground. He took another step closer.

“I hope you don’t mind your wife hearing this,” said Petrovitch, “because husbands shouldn’t have secrets from wives – I learnt that the hard way – but if you don’t let Joseph and Christine spend the evening together in the limousine I’ve parked outside, which can’t go anywhere because he has to stay near me, because of the restrictions your government has placed on my movements while I’m here, even though I’ve a diplomatic passport, I will personally see to it that I ruin you financially and politically by publishing your unaudited accounts for the last twenty years, which will reveal tax evasion and the payment of kickbacks on a frankly industrial scale. I am very aware of how quickly Reconstruction will turn on you and tear your bloodied carcass apart, leaving only scraps for the crows to chew messily on, because it happened to a friend of mine who ended up having to flee the country and become a penniless refugee in the Freezone. So, your call. What’s it going to be?”

He took a deep breath and smiled again. This time, he meant it.

“Joseph!” Christine swept down the stairs, a cloud of green silk and emeralds. She tottered to a halt on her high heels, staring down at the strange tableau below, starring her parents and this white-haired foreigner she’d heard so many appalling things about. She tried to make sense of it, of the conflicting body language exhibited by her father and the stranger.

One thing was clear, though: Newcomen seemed to grow in her presence. He stood straighter and looked stronger. “Hello, Christine. You look amazing.”

Logan almost said something. The corner of Petrovitch’s eye twitched. They were so close, there was no way the man could miss its meaning.

Christine smiled, and her whole face lit up like a flashbulb. Newcomen held the dozen red roses out in front of him, offering them and himself up to her.

She came to collect them, and chastely offered her cheek to be kissed. He did so, trembling.

“They’re lovely, Joseph. Now come on, or we’ll be late, and that would be disrespectful.” She had blonde hair, the colour of a lion’s mane, which bobbed with every one of her precise, positive gestures.

Newcomen collected her coat from the closet – he’d been there often enough to know where it was and which of her many coats she’d need – and draped it around her shoulders.

“Actually, my dear, we’re doing something slightly different tonight. I’ll explain on the way to the car.” He opened the door, and Christine caught sight of the long white limousine.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Joseph.”

With the carelessness of youth, she didn’t look back at her terrified mother and furious father, just strode out into the night as if wolves only existed in fairy tales.

“Half eleven’s late enough for you two, I think,” said Petrovitch. “Be back by then. I need my beauty sleep.”

Newcomen mouthed his suddenly heartfelt thank-you, and Christine’s excited voice was suddenly muffled by the click of the latch, leaving Petrovitch alone with the Logans.

He grunted, halfway between satisfaction and displeasure. Logan was in his personal space, and he didn’t like that. He pressed the fingertips of his left hand into the man’s expensively covered chest and pushed him slowly away. “Why don’t you just relax and make the best of it. There are a million places I’d rather be, and yeah, I blame you for your part in this charade. Despite what you think, your daughter could do worse: much worse. So past’ zebej: I don’t want to hear another word from you this evening or I’ll hand the IRS your zhopu on a plate.”

Logan was used to being undisputed master in his own home. If he’d hated Petrovitch in the abstract before, he now loathed the reality with a passion bordering on obsession. But he was beaten, and knew there was nothing he could do about that. For now.

He turned and stalked away. “Margaret?”

He expected her to follow, to listen to his invective behind a closed door, perhaps even be the target of his ill-temper.

Time, thought Petrovitch, to twist the knife.

“Mrs Logan? I understand you’re quite the artist. If you’d allow me, I’d like to take a closer look at some of those landscapes you’ve done. I’ve only seen pictures of them – the ones from the country club show – and I’m sure they didn’t do them justice.”

He linked his arm through hers so that she could guide him, even though he knew where she displayed them already. He saw her hesitate for the longest time.

Then a spark of defiance. Petrovitch knew how to kindle that into a flame. It would be a better revenge than paupering them all.

“Of course, Dr Petrovitch. My studio is just through here.”

14

“Come on, G-man,” said Petrovitch, kicking the bed. “It’s time to get up.”

Newcomen groaned and put the pillow over his head. “Yeah, yeah. Even on a good day I could drink half a bottle of vodka before breakfast. A few glasses of fizzy French wine shouldn’t give you a headache.”