The woman blinked at me and her mouth fell open in wordless amazement. There was a trickle of blood running from one nostril, so maybe I really had hurt her. She was lovely, even as a disheveled mess gasping for breath. “But, you are not Claudia!” Her voice was astonished and annoyed. “You look like her, but you are not her!”

“Why would you think I was Claudia?”

“The doorman said Miss Moore was here. I thought it was Claudia Moore. Obviously.”

“Wrong sister,” I snapped. “I’m Lily.”

“Lee-lee,” she repeated, as if tasting my name. It was clearly bitter in her mouth. “The sister, of course. I have heard about you. I am Tatiana. I would offer you a drink but as you can see, this is a bad time.” She patted her nose gingerly. “Padma!” she called. “Padma!”

A moment later, a pretty girl with long black hair, dark brown skin and delicate features hurried into the room. I was sure she had been listening on the other side of the door, to come in so fast. She was wearing a black salwar kameez, a knee-length, long-sleeved dress with elegant white embroidery on the bodice over a pair of matching pants, and she couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She glanced in my direction, bowed and whispered an almost inaudible “Hello,” before turning her full attention to the French woman. Tatiana put out her arms like a toddler wanting to be held by her mother. The Pakistani girl was shorter and more slender, but she managed to get Tatiana into a wobbly upright position. Tatiana had broken the heel of one of her black patent Louboutin pumps, and there was blood smeared on her hands. What a complete mess, I gloated, though when I looked down I noticed that my black stockings were torn up, too. How had that happened so fast?

“Why would you want to hurt Claudia?” I sank into the sofa, still mystified by what had happened.

“She snaps her fingers and Tariq goes running, as if he is her dog,” she said, her voice full of rage. “I tell Claudia if she does not leave him alone, I will kill her.” She breathed in sharply. “Ow! That hurt!” she snapped at the maid.

“Sorry, Tati,” said the girl. Maybe it wasn’t an odd nickname, but it sounded just like tatty, as if referring to a pilled sweater or a scuffed shoe. Tatiana limped to a plush chair and sat down.

“When did you last see Claudia?” I asked.

“Too recently,” Tatiana hissed.

“Claudia is missing, you know.”