‘Oh, Sally was always such a klutz, wasn’t she, Eggy? Absolutely hopeless at everything!’

Theresa was up by seven-thirty, making pancakes and all kinds of breakfast treats for Chloe. She wondered how best to handle the conversation. The most important thing was to establish a channel of communication, some way of being able to keep in touch, and to know where Chloe was at all times. But when Theresa contemplated this idea she also realised that it was rather threatening. Even as an adult she would find it horrible to think that someone might want to have tabs on her all day and night.

Obviously Imogen would have other ideas, but Theresa felt sure that the essential thing was, rather than capturing her and forcing her home, to get Chloe to go of her own free will.

She wished she had something more tempting to lure the child. Once a captive animal had escaped it was hard to get it back into its cage, unless of course the conditions outside were worse than the ones in. And from all accounts Chloe was currently living the high life. Theresa no longer even had the South of France as bait to lure her. Chloe already had that. And at the same time, the child was clearly being entertained by a very rich man and his son, whom she adored. How could she compete with that?

Once Chloe was here in person, Theresa hoped to entice her to meet up on a regular basis. Maybe invite Neil and his father to dinner at La Mosaïque? After that her mind ran dry. What other activities might she suggest to keep a grip on the girl? Everything she thought of, to use Chloe’s own expression, sounded pretty lame.

At eight forty-five the doorbell rang, and Theresa went to open with a wide – she hoped – welcoming smile.

But it was only the postwoman who must have thought she was totally bonkers. With a brusque ‘Bonjour’ she thrust a package into Theresa’s hands and scooted off.

Theresa went back into the flat and opened the packet. A CD of Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé.

How strange. She had not ordered any such thing. What could that mean? And who had sent it? Might it have been Chloe herself? But that seemed rather a mature idea for a teenager.

Theresa opened the front door again, to let the sunshine in and take a peep along the front, just in case Chloe was in sight. Who knew, if Chloe was dropped off by car that would give a chance for Theresa to get the number plate. Though what on earth she could do with it after that she had no idea. It was just what people always did on TV series. It might be possible that Neil’s dad would be in the car and Theresa could perhaps have a private word with him, maybe invite all three into her flat.