‘Back before he’d been disillusioned as to the accurate limit of his creative skills – i.e. when he was in college – young Curtis was deathly serious about acting. By 1981, in his last year at Beauchamp, he was a leading proponent of the Beauchamp Drama Society. It is there that he met Olivia Jouval and her friend, Rashida Barnes.’ Petra noted the emphasis on the word friend, but let him continue. ‘Rashida was a first-year scholarship student at Highfield College and she joined the club with Olivia. Radical performance art was their thing.’

‘That sounds right, doesn’t it?’ Suki said.

‘1981 you say?’ Petra said. ‘So they’d be… nearing sixty now.’

‘Yes,’ Ben said. ‘They were the same age as Curtis, who’s also sixty this year.’

‘This month, in fact,’ Petra said. ‘It’s in Who’s Who,’ she added.

‘Early retirement, then,’ Suki said. ‘Lucky for some.’

Petra shot a skew look at her.

‘What? I’ll be indentured to my doting family until I’m seventy at least.’

Usually, Suki’s tone-deaf, glib remarks washed over her, but today they rankled. Maybe it was having met Vincent, learning about how the system had failed Beccie, and of course the worry of what exactly the insurance was going to cover of Helena’s treatment and how they were going to pay for the rest. Again, she bit her tongue; at this rate, it was going to start bleeding soon. ‘It’s funny what assumptions you jump to, based on interviews and media coverage. I guessed she was younger than that.’

‘They scrupulously stay out of the limelight,’ Suki said. ‘Metamuse is always in the media, but we hardly see them beyond Olivia’s fake portraits. We know nothing about the women behind the company. It’s a brilliant campaign in these oversaturated times.’

Petra’s phone rang. It was an unknown number.

‘Sorry. I’d better take this,’ she said.

‘Of course,’ Suki said. ‘It might be reception.’

But it was a woman on the other end, with a European accent and a rich tone cracked at the edges. ‘Hallo, Petra. This is Heike Maslow. I’m – I was Rose Devriendt’s wife. I called you as soon as I received your message.’

Petra excused herself from the table and hurried out into the small courtyard beyond the eating area. A couple of weathered wooden benches spaced around a silver birch struggling bravely in the low light, already emitting tentative buds.

‘Thanks for calling. You say you were Rose’s wife. Is she…?’

‘She died last year.’

‘I’m so sorry. In that case, I didn’t mean to intrude, and you needn’t have called me. It’s not that important.’