She’d been expecting something else. The snapshot she’d been carrying in her mind was of the last time she’d seen him, that night at his house. He’d looked addled then, dishevelled – deep rings around his yellowed eyes and his beard tufty. Half the reason she’d come looking for him tonight was that image of him, helpless and lost. But tonight he looked sharp and clear. He was dressed in an elegant dark-blue suit and his beard was trim and combed, his skin clean and his eyes clear. His lips were dry, though, chapped and red in fine slivers – too much smoking or not enough water – and she perversely took comfort in this small evidence of his deterioration; otherwise, why was she here?

She grabbed his fingers with her left hand and touched her right palm to his face. ‘We have to go.’

He frowned at her for a moment, as if he didn’t recognise her. ‘You’re Camilla?’

Petra pulled her hands back as if electrocuted. ‘Nuh-uh. No. Don’t give me that rubbish. Stop messing around.’ Had they brainwashed him, rewritten him, made him forget who he was?

He sighed and rolled his eyes – as if she was the crazy one – and pointed to her chest. The name tag.

‘Ah, yeah. Who’re you meant to be?’

He ignored the question. ‘Why did you come here? I thought you weren’t interested.’

‘Didn’t you hear a word I said? It’s not that I’m not interested. It’s dangerous here. It’s a trap.’

‘Yet here you are.’

‘Your grandmother was worried. She asked me for help.’

‘In other words, you came here to rescue me.’ He was trying to keep a level tone, but his sneer was nasty. ‘God. She stresses for nothing.’

‘For nothing? That vague note you left. No wonder she was worried.’

‘I guess I should have spoken to her before I came.’

‘You don’t say? You’re not very good at written communication, Vincent. Has anyone told you that?’

‘Yeah, a couple of people.’

‘When I got there, Gloria was actually on her way out to try to find you.’

‘Oh. Shit. How would she have got here? How would she even have known where here was?’

‘Exactly,’ Petra said. ‘You’re bloody lucky I got there when I did, otherwise we’d have another missing person to look for.’

‘We. Yeah.’ Vincent sighed.

‘So we need to go.’ Petra took his hand and stepped towards the stairwell, expecting him to follow, but he stayed put, his sheer immobility jerking her fingers free. ‘Come on, please.’

‘Seriously, Petra. You can go home. I’m fine. You can tell Nan that.’

‘You still believe you’ll find Beccie here, don’t you?’

He looked back at her with clear eyes. ‘She’s inside,’ he said, nodding towards the glass door to his left. ‘I’m just waiting for my cue and then I can go in.’