‘Did you want something?’ Clive had no such qualms about careful wording.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘There are lots of empty tables, but you sat right next to me, which probably means that you wish to talk to me.’

Billie held up her hands. ‘Guilty as charged.’

‘That’s a sort of joke, isn’t it?’ Clive replied without smiling.

Billie tried again. ‘Yes, and yes. Please. I would like to talk to you if that’s okay. Can I get you another cup of tea?’

Clive thought about it. ‘Yes, and yes.’ He paused for a moment. ‘That’s called speech mirroring,’ he added. ‘I did it to make you feel more comfortable. You seem nervous.’

Billie ordered his tea. She admired Clive’s directness. Perhaps, she thought, she should mirror his approach. ‘I wanted to ask you about the woman who left me outside Imelda’s booth.’

‘The woman who is your mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’d like to find out who she is. She left some things with Imelda – things that she wanted me to have – but she made Imelda promise not to reveal her identity.’

Clive considered the facts. ‘Your mother doesn’t want you to know who she is. She left you outside Madame Burova’s booth because she didn’t want to keep you. So why do you want to find her?’

It was a good question. ‘Perhaps she couldn’t keep me.’

‘But even if that were true, she still doesn’t want to be found by you, because she told Madame Burova to keep her a secret.’

Entirely uncluttered or complicated by emotions, Clive’s logic was faultless. Why did she want to know? What good would it do? But still, she had to ask.

‘Please, Clive. It’s important to me, even if I can’t really explain why.’

Clive frowned. ‘Four,’ he replied. ‘Four is a safe number. You may ask four questions.’

‘Do you know her name?’

‘One. No.’

‘Had you seen her before?’

‘Two. Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘Three. Twice here, and three times on the promenade.’

‘Did she work at Larkins?’

‘Four. I don’t know.’

Amber brought their drinks and Clive returned to his telephone directory and Billie cursed herself for not considering her questions more carefully. She should have asked what the woman looked like. She sipped her cappuccino and wondered if it would be safe now to return to the booth.

‘I like your hat. Very much.’ Clive had decided to engage her in a brief conversation as a ‘thank you’ for his tea. ‘Charlie Chaplin had one just like it.’

Billie smiled and Clive stared intently at her face. The smile was just for him, a rare gift in his largely solitary life, and he wanted to remember and treasure it. Billie finished her coffee, fastened Mabel’s lead and got up to leave. Clive wanted to give her something in return.