Spencer was just passing the doors to the reception area when Julia Summers appeared, ushering three girls ahead of her. Two of the girls had white-blonde hair and fake tans, and the third was exceedingly tall and thin with red hair. All of them were clutching their portfolios. Spencer remembered Simon saying the models for this shoot needed to look young, but to Spencer, even with their faces caked in make-up, they looked like children.

*

Jane was checking the rooms upstairs, first looking through Clara’s bedroom, which was a young girl’s paradise. The large canopy bed had drapes in a beautiful pink and silver fabric, and there was a pale pink fitted carpet, stained in certain areas, most likely, she imagined, from dog pee. There were rows of girls’ toys, and a shelf full of Barbie dolls still in their boxes. The night-light had dolphins around the shade, and the small bookcase beside it was full of children’s classics. There was even a pink-tiled en suite with a collection of expensive-looking bath soaps, moisturizers and talcum powder. The fitted wardrobes contained tasteful young girls’ dresses and shoes, and the dressing table had frills that matched the bed canopy. On the wall were numerous photographs of Clara with a little white pony.

The next room was a family bathroom containing shelves of soft towels and bottles of bath salts and perfumes beside a whirlpool bath. The cabinet had no pills or medication but was filled with moisturizers and oils.

As she came out onto the landing, George Henson was standing at the top of the stairs.

‘At least I haven’t bumped into you again,’ he said smiling. He gestured to a room up on the next floor. ‘If you want to search through my office, I will give you a code as I keep the door locked. My bedroom is next to it. I just need to get myself some shoes and a jacket.’

Jane followed Henson up the stairs and onto the next landing. He went to the end of the landing and tapped a code into the panel, which opened the door.

‘My office . . . help yourself.’ Henson went into the next room.

As he’d described, George Henson’s office was really a box room. There was a filing cabinet, shelves full of scripts and film posters on the walls. His desk was an old pine table. Jane moved around the small room, recalling that two of the posters were films Spencer had pointed out to her at the agency’s office. There were stacks of stationery, a typewriter and various notebooks. Rather incongruously there was an electric kettle with a jar of instant coffee beside it and two clean mugs. Henson appeared in the doorway now wearing an expensive-looking jacket and clutching a briefcase.

‘I’m going to shoot off. If you shut the door behind you it will relock.’

He hurried down the stairs, then stopped and looked back up at Jane.