His former wife had discovered the place. Ruth Hedeby had liked it too after she split up with her husband. That relationship was gone now, soured by work, by his need for distance. So he ate alone most mornings and felt happy that way. A moment of solitary reflection before the working day began. He needed it now more than ever. Coffee and orange juice. A pastry from the fancy selection cooked on the premises. He was about to start when a woman walked in and took the seat opposite. She had short, straight hair, dyed somewhere between glossy copper and chestnut. The cut seemed considered, perhaps expensive, and out of place with her clothes: a cheap shiny black anorak, a sweatshirt bearing the name and logo ‘Cambridge University’, black jeans. A joke, he thought. Unreal. Like the rest of her. He was about to say the seat wasn’t taken anyway when he looked at her pale, blank face and bright, large darting eyes.
