That is, if Vincent was even here. The weird thing was, she couldn’t feel his presence. Yes, it was stupid, but she believed that if he was standing in this group of a few hundred people, she’d know it. All she could feel at the moment was a cold absence, an artificial wall being built around her, hemming her in.

She pushed out from the middle of the crowd and made for the brewery’s doors, trying to find a way up to the platform Rashida had stood on. That might be her last chance to scan the crowd.

As she approached the stack of wooden pallets and glanced around her, checking if any of the Metamuse ushers would stop her, she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned to see Ellis Brown; his two-tone suit and fedora would have made sense in the context of this show, he would have looked like one of the cast. But today he was wearing regular casual clothes – jeans, boots and an everyday waterproof coat over a sweater. He pulled the hood further over his head.

‘Quick,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’ He took Petra by the forearm and hurried her around the side of the building and into an alcove filled with neatly piled towers of aluminium beer kegs. Ellis drew Petra behind one of the towers and checked to see they were out of sight.

‘Why are you here?’ he said to her. ‘I told you it was dangerous. Didn’t you believe me?’

‘I honestly don’t know what to believe. I’m not sure if I buy the whole murder conspiracy thing, but I’m willing to accept they’re using us in some way. I’m not interested in being played with.’

‘So why are you here?’ Ellis repeated.

‘I need to find Vincent and take him home. I tried to stop him but he’s come anyway.’

Ellis sighed angrily. ‘That was really stupid. We can’t save him, Petra.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know he’s here. I know he was always going to come. Rashida and Olivia have him where they want him.’

It hurt Petra to have her fears so plainly expressed by this presumptuous stranger – Vincent didn’t give a shit about Petra’s advice. Once he was tempted by the prospect of seeing Beccie again, there was nothing she could do about it, no matter how she’d deluded herself about their ‘fated’ connection.

Okay, sure. Of course her pleas would mean nothing to Vincent compared to Beccie – she wasn’t vain enough to expect anything else. But what about Gloria’s? If she found him and explained to him that Gloria was worried, that she wanted him home, then he’d come with her, surely.

‘I have to speak to him. Where is he?’

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘Where is he?’ she repeated.