McDermid, Val: Trick of the Dark

'You do a good job of pretending.'

'Only up to a point. Then there's the lesbian thing. By ending the book where I did, I managed to keep my adolescent yearnings more or less off-stage. But writing about Oxford and after — it's hard to see how I can avoid it.'

Jasper shrugged. 'The world's moved on, darling. Lesbians are cool now. Think Sandi Toksvig, Sam Ronson, Maggi Hambling, Sarah Waters.'

'You still wouldn't want your daughter to marry one.' She finished her appetiser and placed her cutlery neatly together on the plate. 'At best, they'll think I'm a lucky bastard.'

'They certainly will if they find out the size of the advance,' he said, his eyes narrowing in pleasure. 'Half as much again what we got for Unrepentant. Which is terrific in a flat market.'

A waiter whose designer suit had patently cost more than Jay's outfit whisked their plates away. 'Do you think they only hire staff who fit the suits?' she said absently as she watched him swagger back to the kitchen.

Jasper ignored the question and stuck heroically to his pitch. 'But you're a TV face now too. Ever since they started inviting you as a special guest investor on White Knight , you're on the radar.'

Jay scowled like a disgruntled teenager. 'And that's the last time I let you talk me into going against my better judgement. Bloody White Knight . I can't buy a packet of spaghetti in the supermarket without someone trying to pitch me their brilliant business idea.'

'Stop pretending to be a curmudgeon. You love the attention. '

'I am a curmudgeon.' Jay paused while artfully arranged slices of pink lamb surrounded by neat piles of Puy lentils interspersed with perfectly carved miniature root vegetables, all set on massive porcelain plates, appeared in front of them. 'I meant what I said the other day. I really don't want to do any more White Knight .'

She could see Jasper biting back his frustration. 'Fine,' he said, his smile thin and his voice tight. 'I think you're crazy, but fine. So why don't you do something instead that gives me a legitimate excuse to keep everyone at arm's length? "Sorry, she's writing. She's got a deadline." Plus you know you enjoyed the process of writing Unrepentant . And you also discovered you have a talent for writing memoir.'

Jay couldn't deny that she liked the idea of Jasper telling the world to go away. Bar the door and keep the barbarians out while she gorged on love. She knew enough about the arc of relationships to understand that the rush of emotional and sexual intensity between her and Magda would pass soon enough. You couldn't postpone the first flush till you could create a window in the diary. It came and went on its own timetable. And this had come so instantly, so unexpectedly, so unpredictably it was hard not to fear it might fade just as fast, though it was hard to imagine how it could fade when Magda's beauty made her heart flip every time she cast eyes on her. Having an excuse to hide from the world so she could bind Magda closer to her only had an upside. Never mind that in the long run the book wouldn't make her any friends. She had enough of those.

She sighed. 'Oh, all right, then,' she said, more grumbling than gracious.

Jasper's grin was naked delight. 'You're not going to regret this.'

'For your sake, I hope not. You know how bad things happen to people who cross me.' There was a moment of chill, then Jay smiled. 'Only joking, Jasper,' she said.

His smile was a shaky echo of hers.

Before they met, Charlie Flint had expected to despise and dislike Lisa Kent. Even though Charlie had been the one flying under false colours that first time, she'd been convinced she was the one on the moral high ground.

Her passion for her profession meant she was constantly alive to opportunities to extend her knowledge and experience. So when it became clear that there was a new trend in self-help programmes that tiptoed close to cult territory, she wanted to check the phenomenon out for herself. The one she'd chosen from the three or four she'd been aware of had been Lisa Kent's 'I'm Not OK, You're Not OK: Negotiating Vulnerability'. NV to its acolytes; groups always had to establish private language that set out the terms of their ownership.

Charlie had signed up under a false name for a weekend seminar. Her intent had been to use the experience as the basis for an incisive, devastating account of the whole phenomenon both for peer-reviewed academic publication and possibly for a three-page spread in the Guardian 's G2 section.

The fifty-odd audience members were pretty much what Charlie had expected — mostly mid-twenties to late thirties, undistinguished by individual style, nearly all bearing the taint of defeat tempered only by an anxious hope that this weekend would somehow transform their lives. What had taken her aback was the grudging realisation that Lisa Kent was neither shaman nor charlatan. What she was peddling was mostly sensible and practical. Mainstream therapeutic stuff. What made the seminar cult-like was Lisa's charisma. When she spoke, she held the room in her hands. They loved her. And Charlie was shocked by the realisation that she wasn't so different from the rest of them. Her training and experience hadn't immunised her to Lisa's charm.

But still, there might yet have been no harm done. What happened in the afternoon coffee break changed that. Charlie had been leaning against a wall, drinking tea and trying to look downtrodden enough to belong when Lisa made her way through the crowd and stopped in front of her. Lisa had peered at her name badge and given a wry smile. 'I'd appreciate a little chat, Ms… Browning,' she'd said, hanging enough scepticism on the name to make sure Charlie understood this shouldn't be taken as flattery.

Charlie followed Lisa into a small room off the main hall. Low modular chairs lined the walls and a water cooler hummed in one corner. There was no clue to its function in the arrangement. Charlie sat down without waiting to be asked, crossing one leg over the other, wondering what was coming. Lisa leaned against the closed door, still with the twisted smile in place. Her eyes, Charlie thought, were hard to avoid. A greenish blue tractor beam that had transfixed a room full of people and now made her feel pinned down. 'This is an amazing experience,' she said, trying to imitate the enthusiasm she'd heard at lunch.

'Dr Charlotte Flint,' Lisa said. 'Charlie to your friends, I believe. First degree in Psychology, Philosophy and Physiology from St Scholastika's College, Oxford. Masters in Clinical Psychology and Psychopathology at Sussex. Qualified as a psychiatrist in Manchester, where you are now a senior lecturer in Clinical Psychology and Psychological Profiling. Home Office-accredited to work with the police as a profiler. How am I doing?'

'You missed out my campfire badge from the Guides. How did you spot me?'

Lisa pushed off from the door and got herself some water, turning her back on Charlie. 'I recognised you.' She turned back, shaking her head gently. 'You spoke very eloquently at the Forensic Science Society about the reasons for the choices you made in the Bill Hopton case.'

Bill Hopton. The man who had walked free thanks to Charlie's reluctant conclusion in the witness box that he hadn't murdered Gemma Summerville. The man who had walked free to murder four other women. Just mentioning his name was a gauntlet of sorts. The Hopton case had catapulted Charlie into the public eye. It hadn't done her many favours at the time. And now it appeared to have destroyed her career. But back then, that afternoon in Oxford facing Lisa Kent, it was still a bomb waiting to go off, although it remained the one case everyone connected to law enforcement wanted to talk about with her. Deliberately, Charlie said, 'I didn't know you're a member of the FSS.'