Dan blushes again, writes Grow up, you numpty on his clipboard. He needs to pursue the drinking comment. It was a throwaway, but Dan noticed a crease in Atticus’s eyebrow as he said it. A momentary distance in his eyes. Maybe he felt guilty about transferring his drinking problem to his mother. Or maybe he was speaking the truth and there was more to come out. Atticus alone in a big house. No one to pick him up from school or cook him dinner. Perhaps he had to put his mother to bed each night from a young age, his dad too busy hobnobbing in the art world.

Dan needs to tread carefully. He’s trying to figure out the perfect approach when Atticus interrupts his thoughts.

‘Let me guess what you’re thinking … I’m a spoiled brat who gets to dress up rooms and fanny about with lighting. I pick the nibbles and shout at the waiting staff for drinking the champagne, which I obviously want all for myself, because I’m an alcoholic, right?’ He says it while trying to peek at Dan’s clipboard. Dan hugs it to his chest like a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl hiding her lack of breasts with a book.

‘No. I’m not thinking that.’ Dan is shocked by Atticus’s momentary self-loathing. The counsellor in him says, ‘Explore this. Ask him why he hates himself,’ but his heart says, ‘Be kind. He needs a friend.’

Dan is not supposed to be friends with his clients. He is supposed to chase the clues they leave and help them confront their fears. He knows this, gets paid for this, but for the first time in his career, he doesn’t do it. Instead he says, ‘Are you working on an exhibition now?’

Their eyes meet. Dan could have pushed. Atticus might have confessed. They read this on each other’s face. Atticus looks so grateful he didn’t that Dan cannot regret his decision. All he can do is hope he gets another chance.

‘I’m working with the Pavilion. They’ve been given back some paintings removed by Queen Victoria when dear old Albert died. I’m advising the trust on what the room would have looked like when the paintings were originally hung,’ Atticus says, his voice loud again, equilibrium restored.

‘Interesting.’

Dan loves the Pavilion. He’s been known to lie on the floor of the music room and stare at the giant lotus-shaped chandeliers for hours. The tour guide recommends it, as long as shoes are removed, and no photos are taken. For one crazy second Dan imagines himself and Atticus side by side on their backs, trying to count the gold cockleshells that make up the domed ceiling.

‘Very interesting. I get access to the underground tunnels George used to sneak off and see his mistress.’ Atticus pulls a shocked face.