‘It worked quite well, in the end,’ said Mr Lowther defensively. ‘We were desperate for a girl – or at least, Lindsay was. But after Liam’s birth, the doctors told Lindsay and Brian they couldn’t have any more children. Adoption is such a chancy process in this country, and it takes so long. In any case, you can’t get babies to adopt here any more. And Lindsay didn’t want a child the same age as the boys. We’d read about orphanages in Eastern Europe where all these babies needed parents. Once Lindsay heard about that – well, you can imagine what she was like.’

‘Not really, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, it was all we could do to stop her catching the next flight to Romania. We knew there wouldn’t be any peace until she’d gone to look for herself. But we read up on it a bit – on the internet, you know. And we found that Bulgaria was the place to go these days. So that’s where we went. It seemed as simple as that, at first.’

‘You keep saying “we”.’

‘I couldn’t let Lindsay go out there on her own.’

‘No, but it might seem more natural for her husband to have gone with her.’

Lowther paced the length of the room. ‘It’s difficult for Brian. He has his job, and he can’t just take time off whenever he wants to. But I can organize my time however I like. I’ve got people I can delegate to. And my daughter came before my business, anyway. I was ready and willing to go to Bulgaria with her.’

‘And Rose Shepherd helped you arrange an adoption?’

‘She worked with the people at the orphanage.’

‘Oh, of course. The orphanage.’

He stopped pacing and stared out of the window at the traffic. His shoulders seemed to sag as he was forced to bring back the memories.

‘It was in a small town about thirty miles from Pleven. When we found the place, it was a rundown building with peeling paint, full of chipped wooden cots and thin mattresses. It was awful. Lindsay nearly cried when she saw outside. The thing I remember most is the smell of bleach – it was the first thing that hit us when we went in. But it got worse after that. We could see that the children all slept in cots, regardless of their age. And some of them looked to be more than four years old. We discovered that they were expected to share clothes, and even toothbrushes. Food seemed to be in short supply, too. It was so depressing. Personally, I would have turned round and come home immediately. But then there was Zlatka . . .’

‘Sorry? Did you say Zlatka?’

‘Lindsay and Brian decided to call her Luanne, but her Bulgarian name was Zlatka Shishkov. She was so small and frail, with big eyes and dark, wispy hair. No one could have resisted her.’