It was cooler inside, the heat kept at bay by the tiled floors, the thick walls. There was a dark moodiness to the place with its blackened beams, bookcases rising up to the high ceilings. All living was done in one large room with windows giving on to a view of the river, a twisting cherrywood staircase rising up through the house. Valentina guided them through, creating a little flurry around her as she threw out various asides about the house and the village – how La Grange, as the house was called, had once been a tithe barn for the local clerics; how the water level of the river was perilously low, there having been no rain for months. Abi observed how theatrical Valentina was, creating a little swirl of chaos around her as she absently picked up various objects to show them, one hand waving a lit cigarette about in airy circles, the other hand fingering the yellow beads swinging from her neck or teasing a stray tendril of hair back into its nest on the top of her head. The similarities were there between mother and daughter – both small and birdlike, quick glittering eyes, the flurry of energy that surrounded them. There was a sort of chaos to the house also, towers of books and magazines in sliding piles on the coffee table, a haphazard arrangement of spider plants covering the window ledges, vast amounts of unmatched platters and bowls piled on top of each other along the open shelves of the kitchen. The mantelpiece was adorned with various photographs in patterned frames, and Mark stood there now with hands in his pockets peering from one to the other. Eva hovered by the door, scratching her arm and casting a wary eye up at the slanting ceiling.

‘Is this Anouk?’ Mark asked. He was looking at a black and white picture of a young woman, draped across a couch like an odalisque, remote and serious, heavy-lidded eyes staring back at the camera out of an oval face. Mata Hari, Abi thought.

Valentina said: ‘Oh, yes,’ and smiled myopically at him.

‘She’s very pretty,’ he offered.

‘Anouk is a beauty,’ Val declared, before adding: ‘It is very hard for Corinne.’

Mark’s expression grew quizzical. ‘But Corinne has her own charm, surely.’

‘Oh, yes. Yes, she has,’ Val answered but her vagueness made her sound insincere. ‘And of course, Corinne has character.’

‘That’s certainly true,’ Mark laughed.

‘Yes? You have noticed?’ Playfully, she prodded his arm, and Abi saw Mark’s cheeks redden.

‘So? Do you see a likeness?’ she asked, glancing once more at the photograph of Anouk.

Mark examined the image, frowning a little. ‘Well. I suppose you can tell they are sisters,’ he began uncertainly, but Valentina laughed.

‘No, not with Corinne. With this girl,’ wafting the hand holding her cigarette towards Eva.

‘Me?’ The word came out of Eva’s mouth punched with doubtful surprise.