‘But it was Cressida—’

‘Yes. Yes,’ snapped Imogen. ‘But I know these two. Cressida only parrots what Lola tells her. If Cressida told you that much, Lola knows so much more.’

Imogen shook Lola.

The child’s forehead was damp with the sweat of sleep.

Lola blinked a few times and looked at her mother.

‘What’s wrong, Mummy? Is it a fire drill?’

‘Lola. I need you to tell me everything you know about the man Chloe has gone off with.’

Lola bit her lip. Theresa could see that she was struggling with divided loyalty.

‘I don’t know anything,’ she said. But her voice wavered.

‘I’m sure Chloe told you not to say anything to your mother,’ said Theresa, low but firm. ‘But it really is very important. Chloe might be in danger. Please, Lola.’

Lola looked up at Theresa. A flash of fear lit her eyes. She licked her lips a few times, like a kitten at the vet’s. Then she spoke, in a voice a little above a whisper. ‘He’s old and fat,’ she said. ‘He’s bald, and he wears a dress.’

‘A dress?’ Imogen covered her face with her hands. ‘Stop it, Lola. Tell me what you know. Don’t make things up.’

Lola shrank back under the covers and whimpered, ‘Chloe said he was a lovely kisser.’

As Imogen sobbed, Theresa took a small step forward.

‘Did he promise to take her to the French Riviera?’

Lola shook her head. ‘She was upset because he had gone there without her. But he was in Spain too. And Italy too, somewhere with a fishy name. Like Sardineland.’

‘Sardinia,’ muttered Imogen. ‘The bloody man’s everywhere.’

‘Does he really wear a dress, Lola, or are you making that up?’

‘No. He does wear a dress. Brown with knots on.’

Theresa shot a look at Imogen. She stooped and whispered into her ear. ‘Perhaps we should give that information to the police now.’

Imogen appeared not to hear her and she bent low over Lola’s cowering face.

‘Did you see him yourself, Lola? Or is this something Chloe told you?’

‘I saw him, once. But that was a long time ago.’

Imogen shook Lola’s shoulders.

‘How long? Where did you see him?’

‘It was before Christmas. Last term. At school. But I don’t remember anything. I didn’t know Chloe even liked him till yesterday.’

‘Do you have a name for this man?’

‘I think he used to be called Laurence, but he changed his name after Christmas and Chloe didn’t tell me what it is now. But he’s gone away before with lots of young girls with no clothes on, even though it’s cold. He told her.’

Imogen’s jaw was shaking.

Theresa was frightened for her.

She reached out and gently touched her daughter’s back, whispering: ‘We should go downstairs now, Imogen, and make that call.’

William stood in the kitchen, his face the same shade of purple as his velvet jacket.