Judith was waiting for me, seated in the library with a ruled notebook on the table in front of her, her sharpened pencil lying neatly beside it. She was facing the open door.
“Harry! Out on the tiles all night, were we? I hope she can remember your name this morning. The poor girl.”
I ignored her use of my first name, thinking I would be rather petty by bringing it up. I didn’t need to admonish her to reinforce my dislike. The laugh was as false as the rest of her. It seemed as though she had built a wall between herself and what was real, wanting to live in the world of fantasy she had created. I tried to use that to my advantage. I introduced the name of a Russian illegal I wanted her to think about, who had worked for Microsoft in America until he was arrested by the FBI in 2010. He
