Jakob’s colleague, Michaela, had turned out to be both intelligent and attractive in an understated way, with shoulder-length auburn hair, a guarded smile and dark, lingering eyes. She dressed with a classical elegance – black jacket, nicely tailored, with a simple cream blouse, and the confidence to wear a skirt. There was a quiet calm about the way she discussed their delivery requirements that he found oddly appealing, and he’d invited them both out for a drink. They’d started at a nearby bar on the waterfront.

‘So tell me,’ Jakob gestured towards him with his glass, ‘how did you come to be with Winterhill?’

Naysmith leaned back in his chair.

‘I like a challenge,’ he replied, allowing his eyes to engage Michaela’s for a moment, then returning to Jakob. ‘Winterhill gave me the opportunity to build my own department from the ground up, to run things the way I want.’

‘They are good to work for?’

‘Very.’ Naysmith smiled. ‘I usually do one day a week in the Woking office, but the rest of my time is flexible. I work the hours I need to and, so long as I keep delivering the numbers, the directors are happy.’

‘I read that you recently expanded into Germany?’ Michaela had the faintest hint of a Welsh accent when she spoke. ‘Business must be good.’

‘You’ve done your homework,’ he nodded. ‘Germany’s our second-largest market and one of our resellers was based in Hamburg. It made sense to acquire them, bring their expertise in-house. It also eases the workload for my UK team, who were getting quite stretched. I just wish more of our clients were like you – it usually takes a lot more than one meeting to get a deal memo.’

‘Ah, but we know what we want.’ Jakob laughed.

Naysmith smiled at Michaela.

‘So do I.’

By 7 p.m. it was clear that nobody was in a hurry to go home, so Naysmith suggested they all eat at a nearby hotel. He remembered the restaurant there as being rather good, and there was a comfortable lounge as well. He could get a room – that would save him the misery of the slow evening train home, and it would afford him a legitimate excuse to spend the night and be in Bristol the next day.

Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable. Naysmith had known some very dreary Scandinavians, but Jakob was well travelled and Michaela added some welcome chemistry to their talk. At first, he had wondered if Jakob was fucking her – there did seem to be a faint spark between them – but as the meal progressed he had revised his opinion. The big Norwegian was keen on her, and she enjoyed the attention, but that was as far as they had gone, or seemed able to go.

Conversation drifted easily from business to pleasure as they ate.

‘Oh, I wish I’d known.’ Michaela brightened as they discussed music. ‘There’s a place on King Street that has great live jazz most evenings.’

Naysmith shrugged. ‘Next time I have an evening in Bristol . . .’

‘Absolutely.’ She smiled.

It was perfect. He’d never have risked a deal like this over a woman – if she and Jakob had been an item, he’d have kept his distance. As it was, though, he had a pleasing evening, asking her lots of open questions, carefully empathising, and verbally fencing with Jakob over her, letting everyone enjoy the agreeable tingle of flirtation in their talk.

It was almost ten when Jakob went to retrieve his jacket from the cloakroom. Sitting with Michaela, Naysmith casually reached into his pocket and stole a glance at her business card. There were three telephone numbers on it. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

‘This is your mobile number?’ he asked her, indicating the card.

‘Yes.’ She answered quietly, without looking at it, allowing him to hold her gaze far too long.

It was so tempting, to put his hand over hers, to ask her back for a drink in his room, but he reluctantly decided against it. She had something special about her, something that he didn’t want to rush. He could imagine slow summer afternoons with her, seeing her shy smile when she woke next to him, someone he might actually enjoy listening to.

‘I’ll hold you to that promise . . .’ he pointedly placed her card in his pocket, then smiled, ‘. . . next time I have an evening here.’

And then Jakob had returned and the moment passed, with just a hint of regret in her eyes to assure him that he was right.

She was something to look forward to when he had more time . . .

He savoured that thought as his breakfast arrived.

2

Thursday, 3 May

Naysmith called the office later on that morning and caught up on some emails before checking out of the hotel just before eleven. It wouldn’t do to be early, but he was eager to be back up at Clifton Down by noon.

He told the taxi to drop him at Sion Hill, a little over a mile away from the park – intentionally distant. It was better to be careful even at this early stage, and he had plenty of time. He took a few minutes to walk out onto the Clifton suspension bridge, stopping at the halfway point, alone, far above the Avon Gorge with its ribbon of silvery water and its tiny cars hurrying along below. He looked south across the city, out to the pale horizon beyond, then closed his eyes and enjoyed the breeze, the tremendous sensation of height, like standing in the sky.

There was nothing he couldn’t do.

A narrow footpath wound its way up to an open expanse of grass, scattered with benches where people could sit and take in the view of the bridge. An enthusiastic young Labrador came bounding towards him as he crested the hilltop and he stooped to make a fuss over it as its owner, a large woman in her forties, hurried forward, vainly calling, ‘Sammy. Sammy!’

‘I don’t think he heard you.’ Naysmith grinned, rubbing the dog behind its ears.

The woman shook her head, catching her breath. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be, it’s fine,’ he laughed. ‘Are you all right, though? Looks like he’s been giving you quite a workout.’

‘I never thought having a dog could be so exhausting.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘It’s worse than going to the gym.’

‘Better company though.’ He gave the dog a friendly pat and stood up. ‘You wouldn’t have the right time, would you?’

The woman quickly frowned at her watch. ‘Twenty to twelve.’

‘I’d better get along.’ Naysmith smiled. ‘There’s someone I have to catch up with.’

The footpath led down through a stand of overhanging trees, then out to the main road. He crossed over and walked up a long hill, admiring the tall houses that looked out over the park.

Somewhere, a bell chimed noon. Seven minutes to go and her twenty-four hours would be up. He gave them all this grace period, a head start, so they had the chance to disappear before he came looking. She could be anywhere now, but that just made the challenge more interesting. And of course, she didn’t know he was coming.

At the top of the hill, the road bent round to the right and he followed it, measuring his pace, resisting the temptation to hurry.

A buzzing in his pocket slowed him and he cursed under his breath. Taking his phone from his jacket, he looked at the name on the screen, sighed, and diverted the call. Not now.

Switching off his phone, he cleared his mind of everything but her, summoning her face from his memory, recalling her eyes, the small nose and straight, shoulder-length hair. A sense of calm spread through him as he focused on her image.

He was just a couple of hundred yards from the corner of Stoke Road. It was 12.06, but he waited, willing the second hand on his watch to crawl right round to the top before he looked up.

12.07 – and the game was on!

Quickly, his eyes swept the park, studying the various distant figures for anyone that might possibly be her. He crossed the road but ignored the path, cutting straight across the grass in the direction of the bench where she’d been twenty-four hours before.