Mayfair on a crisp, clear morning. The demure woman I am meeting in the bar of an opulent hotel is dressed elegantly and entirely in black. Her nail polish is black, too. A flash of a gold bracelet when we shake hands hints at money.
To the waiter delivering her glass of still water, my companion might be a high-flying banker or even a minor European royal. Age? She could be 25 or 45. Appearances can be deceptive, and this woman knows all about deception.
