At the mention of the boyfriend Lina shakes her head so violently that her hair flies about her face; perhaps he hadn’t been a boyfriend after all, but just the last in a line of criminals who handed her over to men like Paul. They might still be around, keeping watch, ready to track her down if she tries to leave. Lina needs to go somewhere safe, but has she the right to take her away from the place she knows, as if Lina was her property? Has she the right not to?

‘If I can find a place for you to go, would you allow me to take you there?’

Lina stares at her, her eyes narrowed with concentration, the effort of taking it in.

‘There are places, houses, where women go when they’ve been hurt, where they couldn’t find you.’ She can take her right now and return for Izzy later. ‘I’ll need to make a phone call, but if you’re okay with it, we should leave pretty soon. What do you think?’

Lina looks round the kitchen, the cupboards, the sink, the stove where she cooked, the window she’d gazed from, as if she’s saying goodbye. Her focus settles on the little cat, curled now in her basket. Melissa waits, her heart beating fast.

‘Lina?’

Lina looks up at her. ‘Okay.’ She nods slowly, ‘Okay.’

‘We may have to drive for a while. Can you put what you need in a bag, your passport and something warm to wear?’

‘Passport,’ Lina shakes her head. ‘Your husband has.’

Paul must have taken it for safekeeping, or more likely, to prevent her escape. ‘I’ll find it. In the meantime, would you like me to tell the police what’s happened?’

Lina stares. Her eyes are full of fear; she might have no visa and no official permission to work here.

‘No police, okay. I understand. I’ll knock on your door in ten minutes.’

Lina stands up, still wrapped in the rug, and disappears swiftly up the stairs.

The National Domestic Violence helpline springs up on the screen in Paul’s study when Melissa taps Women’s Aid into the keyboard. She jabs the number into her phone with fingers that fumble with haste. A brisk voice answers. She explains she is calling on behalf of her maid, giving an account of how she found Lina, what she saw.

‘Yes, the perpetrator has access to her.’

Unwise to name her husband, they might suspect an agenda. Lina can fill them in.

‘Sixteen, maybe younger.’

No one could have guessed; Lina was never without make-up and obscuring clothes.

‘Syria. My husband said we were doing a favour for a friend by taking her on.’

I never suspected he was lying, which was stupid; he’s lied to me so often.

‘Bruising. She’s pregnant.’

Paul would want to get rid of it, remove the incriminating evidence.