Zechariah glared back at the first sign of annoyance. Once upon a time he had balked at the extreme separation between the classes, but Simon’s ‘legacy’ had been a stark lesson of why. His eyes followed the path the workman’s hand traced in the air, to the toolbox, and then back to Ezra with pursed lips.

“Very well,” he answered curtly. “Some time after five – but not too long after.”

Did Zechariah have plans tomorrow night? Strangely, not any more.