‘Last man hurt me, and when I cry he say I am not please him and he will not pay. Nikolai beat me, and then he say he will kill me when he come back from deal with man. But he forget to lock door, so I run.’

‘Good for you,’ Frank said.

‘No, is not good,’ Irena countered. ‘I was afraid to be there when he come back, but now I am afraid what will happen when he catch me, so I think maybe I should have stay.’

‘Definitely not,’ Frank argued, reaching across the table and placing his hand over hers. ‘You did absolutely the right thing getting out of there while you could, and I wish you’d let me call the police, because he needs to be taken off the streets before he does this to anyone else.’

‘He has done many times already,’ Irena said, staring at their joined hands. ‘And I know you are right, but I cannot risk go to prison.’

‘You’re the victim, so I very much doubt they’d arrest you,’ Frank said reassuringly. ‘They might even be able to arrange for you to go home – if that’s what you want?’

‘My father will not accept me with empty purse, so I have no home,’ Irena said bitterly. ‘And if Nikolai hear that I am there, he will come for me, so I cannot go back.’

Before Frank could reply to that, the doorbell rang, and Irena snapped her head up.

‘Is him!’ she cried, panic in her eyes. ‘He has find me.’

‘I doubt it,’ Frank said, scraping his chair back. ‘But stay here while I take a look.’

‘Please do not open door,’ Irena said fearfully. ‘If he see me with you, he will kill us both.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone in,’ Frank promised, patting her shoulder before walking out into the hall.

It was Yvonne, and she waggled her fingers at him when he peeped through the spyhole. Too polite to ignore her when it was obvious she knew he was there, Frank cracked the door open and peered out at her.

‘Hello, stranger,’ she beamed. ‘I saw you drive past yesterday, so I thought I’d pop round to see how you’ve been getting on?’

‘It’s not really a good time,’ Frank croaked. ‘I’ve, um, come down with some kind of bug, and it might be contagious.’

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Yvonne sympathized. ‘But I’ve had my annual flu shot, so I should be immune to most things. Now let’s get you inside and I’ll warm this up for you.’ She held up a bag containing a large Tupperware bowl. ‘Chicken soup – how’s that for a coincidence? You’re ill, and I turn up with nature’s perfect remedy.’

Frank pulled a face, as if the very thought of eating nauseated him, and clapped a hand over his mouth, mumbling, ‘Sorry . . . got to go.’