On an afternoon in October he was to meet Zoe in Holland Park, by the northern gate. Lisa was going for a fitting of her wedding dress and afterwards to dine with her mother in what he called the medium’s lair. So that was all right. He waited by the gate for nearly an hour. When Zoe didn’t come, he went to her flat but received no answer to his ring. From his own home he telephoned her five times during the evening, but each time the bell rang into emptiness. He passed a sleepless night, the first night he had been on his own for four months.

All the next day, from work, he kept trying to call her, and for the first time since he had known her he made no call to Lisa. But his own phone was ringing when he got home at six. Of course it was Zoe, it must be. He took up the receiver and heard the fraught voice of Mrs Cleasant.

‘Peter?’

Disappointment hurt him like pain. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘How are you? How’s Lisa?’

‘Peter, I have very bad news. I think you had better come here. Yes, now. At once.’

‘What is it? Has anything happened to Lisa?’

‘Lisa has – has passed over. Last night she took an overdose of my pills. I found her dead this morning.’

He went out again at once. In the park, at dusk, the leaves were dying and livid, some already fallen. At this point, when they had been showing their first green of spring, he had taken the photograph, at this, he had seated her in a sunny open space and she had seen Zoe.

Mrs Cleasant wasn’t alone. Some of the members of her magic circle were with her, but she was calmer than he had ever seen her and he guessed she was drugged.

‘How did it happen?’ he said.

‘I told you. She took an overdose.’

‘But – why?’ He shrank away from the medium’s eyes which, staring, seemed to see ghosts behind him.

‘Nothing to do with you, Peter,’ said Mrs Cleasant. ‘She loved you, you know that. And she was so happy yesterday. Her fitting was cancelled. She said she wanted fresh air because it was such a lovely day, and then she’d walk over to you. She’d thrown away her charm – that amulet she wore – because she said you didn’t like it. I told her not to, as it was a harmless thing and might do good. Who knows? If she had been wearing it . . .’

‘Ah, if she had been under the Protection!’ said the medium.

Mrs Cleasant went on, ‘We were going out to dinner. I waited and waited for her. When she didn’t come I went alone. I thought she was with you, safe with you. But I came back early and there she was, looking so tired and afraid. She said she was going to bed. I asked her if there was anything wrong and she said . . .’ But Mrs Cleasant’s voice quavered into sobs and the witch women fluttered about her, touching her and murmuring.