I was completely thrown. At breakfast I’d suggested meeting Colin Matheson, but Hawthorne had shown no interest at all. ‘Oh – you’ve met!’ I said.

‘Yes. We’ve just had a bit of a run-through . . . how we’re going to do the session.’ He looked at me accusingly. ‘Where were you, mate?’

‘I was listening to Maïssa Lamar.’

‘I’m afraid I decided to give that one a miss,’ Matheson said, managing to sound both regretful and relieved. Judith had told me he was a barrister and I have to say I was surprised. He was softly spoken. He didn’t seem assertive enough. ‘I’ve just been going through some of the questions with Mr Hawthorne,’ he went on. ‘We’ve almost sold out, by the way.’

I wasn’t sure if that ‘almost’ was good or bad news. After all, the cinema only had about ninety seats.

‘Maybe you and I could have a quick chat about it?’ I suggested, weakly.

‘I’m not sure we’ve got the time.’ Colin smiled. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you don’t need any rehearsal, a pro like you.’ He glanced at his watch as if that settled the issue. ‘We thought we might go to Elizabeth Lovell’s session after lunch,’ he added. ‘Judith managed to snag some seats. You’ve probably heard, they’re a bit of a hot ticket! Would you care to join us?’

I’d had no intention of going, but if Hawthorne planned to be there . . .

‘I’d love to,’ I said.

‘Good. Good. I’ve heard her talk before and she is quite remarkable. If you believe in that sort of thing . . .’

‘And do you?’

‘I try to keep an open mind.’

I became aware of a figure moving towards us, making his way through the lunchtime crowd with obvious determination. It was the historian, George Elkin, and he didn’t look happy. Colin Matheson turned round, saw him and visibly flinched. He knew what was coming.

‘I’ve just heard the news . . .’ Elkin said.

‘George! Have you met—’

‘The power line. You’ve decided on the route.’

Matheson had no fight in him at all. His eyes seemed to sink deeper into his head. ‘Actually, George, we haven’t announced it yet.’

‘I know you haven’t announced it. I can understand that you wouldn’t want to announce it. But you’ve done it all the same.’ He turned to Hawthorne and me. ‘There are five mass graves on Longis Common. A thousand poor souls murdered by the Nazis, finally at peace. My grandfather is one of them. Think of it! He was in his twenties when they starved him and worked him to death. But these people . . .’ There were actually tears in his eyes as he fought for control. ‘They’ll desecrate the whole area, tear it up for a handful of euros and to hell with what everyone else thinks.’