‘And the vieille dame, while he’s at it?’

‘Hey! You! Enough of the old.’

‘He’s not a local then?’

‘Oh no, he’s staying around here for a few weeks. He was very “So British”, as they say over here.’

‘But what was he doing gazing through Theresa’s window? Did he say?’

‘Something about his work with sound reverberations. Acoustics or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening. He must be at the Astra. They usually are. I didn’t have a clue what he was on about, actually. I was just transfixed by the seductive tone of his mellifluous vocals. So I told him the owner of the flat was away; meanwhile he could make as much noise as he wanted, and when she got back then if he wanted to continue, he could explain everything to her. That seemed to please him.’

‘And you’re sure he’s nothing to do with Chloe?’

‘It seems not.’

Sally glanced at Theresa’s place, up to the small square windows of the flat above and beyond to the looming shadow of the Hotel Astra.

‘You don’t think he’s up there? What if he has her locked up?’

‘I’d say he seemed not the type to be interested in children. After all, he invited me out on a date!’ Carol laughed her deep, warm chuckle.

Sally was still worried. The man might fancy Carol, who due to her past life had a certain handsome allure, but that did not rule out his having other interests of a sexual nature. She looked up once more. ‘Wonder what he’s getting up to up there that he doesn’t want Theresa to hear?’

‘Chopping up the bodies, perhaps!’

Although Carol had only said what Sally herself was thinking, she said, ‘Carol, you’re beyond beyond.’

‘I am what I am!’ Carol swept off in the direction of the restaurant van. ‘Anyhoo, honey, don’t worry. When we’re out on our date I’ll probe him.’

Sally laughed. ‘I bet you will.’

When she arrived at the school, Theresa was shown straight up to Imogen’s office. She opened the photo album and displayed the photo of Chloe with the boy playing Friar Laurence.

‘Fire! Laurence!’ she said. ‘Bald, fat, old . . . and he wears a brown dress – with knots on. It’s him.’ She stabbed her finger down on the photo. ‘Another boy from this school. Over to you, Imogen.’

‘Oh, that’s something of a relief.’

‘It’s a huge relief, darling. It’s not a real old, fat, bald man who lured Chloe away. At least it’s someone of her own age. So where is he?’

‘I don’t remember who that was.’ Imogen peered at the photo, then pulled open a drawer in the filing cabinet at her side. ‘Behind all the make-up. Romeo and Juliet was the school play, last November.’ She took out a file marked ‘Drama’, and flipped through to the printed programme. ‘I just leave all that theatrical stuff to Frances. And the boy is so well padded-out and bewigged I’ve no idea who it was.’