She did not think about it.
This was a discipline, and she was good at it, and she maintained it for eleven months with the same grim application she had brought to everything since she was seventeen.
She did not think about it in conferences, where he sat across the table with his sleeves rolled and did the thing with his hands when he was thinking, which involved turning a pen over and over between two fingers and which she had watched for four solid minutes in a directions hearing in February and had then had to be asked a question twice.
She did not think about it when he laughed at something Frank said in the corridor, because he had a real laugh, an actual one, which came out of him about once a fortnight and had absolutely nothing to do with the rest of his face.
She did not think about it at the chambers dinner in March when he had leaned past her to reach for something and she had, for about half a second, been able to smell exactly what he had smelled like at four o'clock in the morning in a hotel on Aldwych.
She did not think about it when Marguerite mentioned, in passing, that Nathaniel was "seeing somebody, apparently, some doctor," and Talia said, "Good for him," and went upstairs and read a witness statement four times without taking in a single word.
She did not think about it.
There was, however, a drawer.
It was in her flat, in the bedroom, on the left, and it had socks in it and a passport and a bank card she had cancelled, and at the back of it, in a small brown envelope, there were two silver cufflinks.
She had, on eleven separate occasions, taken the envelope out with the intention of putting it in her bag, so that she could put it on his desk in front of everybody and say something devastating and finally, finally have the conversation.
She had put it back eleven times.
She had never once been able to work out what the devastating thing was going to be, because every version of it began with the night we, and there was no possible way to start a sentence with those three words in that building.
So they stayed in the drawer.
And she went on lowering his coffee order and hiding the Nespresso pods and telling herself, with total sincerity, that she hated him — which was true, in the way that most of the things people say about each other at four in the afternoon in an office are true.