He clicks on Elaine Kelly’s name and indulges once more in the small window of her life. It contains pictures and data from her childhood, school days and the present. Her husband Frank is a rum-looking sort, moody and miserable and twice her age. In her photographs there is a sense of distance between them both. In other pictures she is with her son Jordan, but most of them are shots of her alone, in a park, in the woods, or gazing out the window of her small shadowy apartment. What a wretched life she leads. Only he sees in her what no one else can see. She is a tragic Shakespearean heroine like Juliet, or even better, Ophelia. He pictures her floating lifeless, like Millais’ painting.

He takes a sip of the bitter hot coffee, which is better than expected. Now it’s 8.24, and not long to go before his new collection will be revealed. He is calm but also filled with a sense of nervous excitement. For now, he focuses on his fellow customers and the selection of new candidates.

To his left is an occupied bank of red bar stools framed in the window overlooking Tower Street and Seven Dials. He has a sense of being watched and looks to the mirror opposite. A round woman with bobbed hair is scrolling through her phone and occasionally steals a glance his way.

She looks familiar and he wonders, but also suspects, what has captured her attention on her phone.

He enters the security code on his device and opens the Tinder app. With location services switched on, he pages through the profiles until he finds her.

CassandraH, 30, project coordinator.

Bright, bubbly, loves cuddles, cats and the books of E. P. Jones. Cassandra Hotchkiss is my heroine! Looking for my very own Max. Hit me up for a date.

He smiles to himself. CassandraH is the username of sweet Megan Burchill. He has been communicating with her for almost one month now and is surprised to see her here, but then, perhaps not. He has mentioned that he is often in the area. She looks older than her stated age and is also plumper and curvier than her photos suggest. He pictures her without clothes. A Renaissance beauty.

His gaze meets hers. She freezes, locked in eye contact, blushes and turns back to her device.

She’ll be perfect, he thinks. With the fountain pen he scratches:

Megan Burchill.

His phone chimes with a message. A notification from Grindr.

Thomas Butler.

Another potential acquisition.

He shoots a glance at the artwork of the crotch-grabbing youth with the six pack and considers just how alike Thomas and the painting are. There is a rare synchronicity in this moment that is almost beautiful. Like Elaine, Thomas is meant to be.

He selects the like button, sends him a message and scratches Thomas’s name in the notebook.