Gemini. Mark Burnell

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      ‘Did you tell Mark about the test?’

      ‘I couldn’t see the point.’

      ‘You must have thought about the possibility before that.’

      ‘Of course.’

      Stephanie had only ever allowed herself to consider the issue in the most conceptual fashion. Of all women, how could she bring a child into the world? More practically, she wasn’t sure she was maternally inclined. Considering the life she’d led, nobody could accuse her of an overdeveloped instinct to nurture.

      Mark was lighting a barbeque on the roof terrace – the last of the year, he said – the first oily flames dancing over the charcoal. Stephanie carried a tray of glasses across the decking to the table in the far corner. She put the tray on the table, picked up her glass of wine and plucked a bottle of beer for Mark from the turquoise cool-box.

      ‘What time did you ask them?’

      ‘Eight, eight-thirty.’

      There were six coming. True friends of his, friends-by-proxy of hers. But they felt real enough most of the time. With a warm evening sun on his shoulders, dressed in a loose navy T-shirt and a pair of faded knee-length cotton shorts, with his hair suitably dishevelled after an active hour in bed, he couldn’t have looked more relaxed.

      ‘You know who called today?’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Cameron Diaz’s people.’

      Said as though this was a common occurrence. Although it wasn’t that unusual. The practice in Cadogan Gardens did attract a number of high-profile clients. In her darker moments Stephanie sometimes wondered whether they were drawn by the quality of the treatment or by Mark himself.

      ‘Cameron Diaz?’

      ‘Apparently she’s in town to promote a new movie. Or to start filming one. I can’t remember …’

       Right.

      His back was turned to her. Quite deliberately, Stephanie knew, though he’d maintain he was tending the charcoal.

      ‘What’s wrong with her?’

      ‘I think it’s her hip flexor.’

      ‘I see. And you’ll be treating that yourself, will you?’

      ‘It’s my practice. I think I should, don’t you?’

      ‘Naturally.’

      ‘It’ll probably require some subtle manipulation followed by some deep, penetrative massage.’

      Stephanie picked up a piece of French bread from the wooden bowl on the table and threw it at him. It hit him between the shoulders. He turned round, feigning angelic innocence.

      ‘Her hip flexor?’

      He shrugged. ‘Who knows? If I’m lucky …’

      ‘I hope you’ll charge her the full rate.’

      ‘I’ll probably charge her double.’

      ‘Then it better be a successful movie.’

      ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

      Julian Cunningham, Karen’s husband, had once told Stephanie that chiropractors were like lawyers and bookies: you never saw a poor one. She reminded Mark of that.

      He put up his hands in mock defence. ‘All I’m doing is charging the going rate. Same as you.’

      ‘True.’

      Which was why, in a numbered dollar account at Guderian Maier bank in Zurich, Petra had just over three million eight hundred thousand dollars. Not a cent of which had found its way into the life she shared with Mark.

      ‘I’m going to Hong Kong.’

      He took it in his stride. ‘It’s agreed?’

      ‘Pretty much.’

      ‘For how long?’

      ‘I’m not sure.’

      ‘What for?’

      ‘Organized crime in the Far East.’

      That was the cover Gavin Taylor at Frontier News had decided upon. It was a little conventional for his taste, but Stephanie had decided to tell Mark she was going to Hong Kong. Normally she would have lied about her destination, as an added precaution. This time, with the contract open-ended, she was worried about complications. Taylor had agreed; keep it simple and keep it as close to the truth as possible.

      ‘When are you leaving?’

      ‘The date isn’t fixed. But soon.’

      ‘Are you still thinking about quitting afterwards?’

      ‘Definitely.’

      ‘So everything’s fine?’

      She nodded. ‘Very much so.’

      He looked at her, saying nothing. With most people Stephanie was the master of silence. Not with Mark. She never had been.

      ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

      ‘I believe you’re going. And that you’ll come back.’

      ‘And the bit in between?’

      He considered this for a good while. ‘Given the choice between not knowing and being lied to, I’d prefer not to know.’

      ‘And you’re happy with that?’

      ‘I’m happy with you.’

      ‘But?’

      ‘But nothing. I’ve always accepted you as you are, Stephanie. Other people might find that strange. That there are things about you that I don’t know. That I don’t insist on total disclosure. But it’s just the way I am. You’re different. I’m different. We strike chords in each other. And if we have to make allowances, we make allowances.’

      ‘Don’t your friends find that odd?’

      ‘My friends don’t know. Nobody knows. It’s just us.’

      Stephanie pressed her palms together, then sandwiched them between her thighs. ‘The thing is, I’m not sure I could do the same, if our positions were reversed.’

      Mark shrugged. ‘But they’re not, are they?’

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