By the time the sky outside began to grey, no police had yet come through the front doors, and Rosalind mistook the delay for safety, and her confidence came creeping back.

“You can perform all you like,” she said, drawing herself up.

“But the estate is mine.

Samantha is unstable — everyone knows it.

And I have witnesses.” I looked at her for a long moment.

“You don’t have witnesses, Rosalind,” I said.

“You have accomplices.

It’s a different thing, and the difference is about to matter more to you than anything ever has.” And as if the word had frightened something loose in him, Christopher bolted — broke for a side corridor and the elevators — and hospital security had him against the wall before he reached the doors.