‘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.’

‘Don’t you have a boy who’s missing from school too?’

‘Friar Laurence . . .’ Imogen ran her finger down the cast list. ‘Oh, no. I don’t believe it. Neil Muffett. Not Neil.’ She slid the Romeo and Juliet programme over to Theresa and flung herself back in her swivel chair.

Theresa was worried by Imogen’s reaction to the discovery of the boy’s name. ‘He’s a troublemaker? A bully?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘But is he absent from school?’

‘Worse than that. He left the school at the end of last term.’ Imogen rose and moved over to another set of filing cabinets. ‘I doubt I have anything much of use on him in here now.’

She stooped over the desk and pressed the button on the intercom. ‘Nadia, please could you find out the address and phone number of a boy who left the school last Christmas. Neil Muffett . . . That’s right. Neil.’

Imogen took her finger off the intercom and leaned forward to speak to Theresa.

‘Neil was a strange boy. Always gazing out of the window. Full of daydreams.’

‘Was he expelled? Is that what you’re trying to say?’ Theresa could imagine Chloe finding the lure of a daydreaming ‘bad ’un’ rather irresistible.

‘No. Neil was not expelled. Absolutely not. He was more of a sloth than a wild boy. He thought he could just sail through his education without putting in one iota of effort. He truly believed he’d get by simply on his ravishing smile. He left, I seem to recall, because his parents moved away from the area. There was a huge divorce. Mega-bucks involved.’

The intercom buzzed and the voice of Nadia said that she had the address of the boy’s mother. A house in Streatham.

‘Come on, Mum.’ Imogen picked up her bag and coat and strode through to Nadia’s office to collect a written copy. ‘Let’s go.’

Twenty minutes later Theresa and Imogen pulled up outside a house with a large driveway and a garage. It had obviously once been rather grand, but now seemed slightly dilapidated. The borders of the driveway were overgrown with weeds, the paintwork round the windows was peeling, the glass dusty and uncleaned in months.

‘Can this be right?’ Imogen peered forward, then pointed at the address card. ‘I always thought they were frightfully well-off.’

Theresa double-checked the card.

‘Yes. This is it. It does look like a very big house. Perhaps it’s better inside.’