‘He died! Oh God, Billie, that’s awful!’

Thankfully, Julia just managed to return the forkful of spaghetti Bolognese to her bowl rather than drop it into her lap with shock at Billie’s revelation. She and Annie and had joined Billie for dinner at her flat before she returned to Brighton, where she had been invited to spend a week with Imelda. Billie was sharing with them what she had managed to find out so far.

‘Years ago, apparently. Just my luck.’ Billie had shown them the photograph and repeated word for word what Imelda had told her.

‘But you don’t know for sure that he was your dad?’ Annie picked up the photograph and studied it carefully, searching Cillian Byrne’s features for any likeness to those of her friend. ‘You don’t look much like him.’

‘Imelda said that she couldn’t tell me who my birth father was, because she didn’t know. But my mother gave her this to pass on to me, saying that he was in this photograph. Cillian Byrne is right in the middle. His face is the first one you see, and frankly, if I had to choose, I’d choose him. He’s bloody gorgeous.’

Annie raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds a little weird, coming from his prospective daughter. And anyway, as I said, there’s not much of a resemblance,’ she teased with an arch smile. Billie pulled a face. ‘Maybe I look more like my mother.’

‘Did Madame Burova tell you who any of the others were?’

Julia had momentarily lost interest in her food and gestured for Annie to hand over the photograph.

‘She said that she knew most of them when it was taken – she worked at Larkins for a while doing readings – but now she can only remember a few names. She wrote them on the back.’

Julia turned the picture over and read out loud:

‘Back row, third from left – Titus Marlow, hypnotist. He looks a bit creepy. Second row, far right – Sara-Jade Virtue, contortionist. Front row, far left – Marty Mount, General Manager. He looks like a proper ladies’ man. Middle row, second from right – Jeanie Rogers, singer. She looks so young.’ The list continued, finishing with Centre – Cillian Byrne, Wall of Death rider.

‘What makes you think that this Cillian was your father? Did Madame Burova drop any hints?’

‘How could she drop any hints if she didn’t know who the father was?’ said Annie, refilling their wine glasses.

‘She said she didn’t know, but I got the impression that she had her suspicions. She also said that he was very charismatic and that the ladies loved him. Maybe that was a hint.’

‘It sounds like she fancied him to me,’ said Annie, helping herself to a slice of garlic bread. ‘What did she tell you about how you were found?’