‘Casey! You’re here . . .’ Cressida’s voice trailed away to a silence as she jerked to a halt.

‘What’s the matter?’

A hesitation, then Cressida smoothed down her purple silk dress firmly. ‘You’re going to think I’m an idiot.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Promise?’

‘Yes.’

Cressida shoved her hand into the carrier bag. She scrabbled for a second, and pulled out a tangle of material. It was a skirt, Casey saw. Scarlet taffeta over layers of ivory tulle, fit for a fantasy ballerina.

‘Here.’ Cressida held the skirt awkwardly, as if she couldn’t stand to touch it.

Casey reached out. She could see something folded among the petticoats: a piece of white silk, with a pattern of pale blue. It was only when Casey looked closely that she saw the fabric was stitched with lines of words.

‘What . . .’

‘Just take it.’

Cressida almost threw the skirt at Casey, and backed away, her usual glamour cracked like a glass.

The piece of silk was hard to read, some of the embroidery torn into meaningless threads. Casey peered at it, and turned it sideways. Looked closer, held it up to the light.

A jolt.

They take the girls.

Casey bent closer, the entrance hall around her disappearing.

She read it again. They take . . .

Part of the embroidery was snarled on a layer of ballet-girl tulle. Slowly, Casey tried to pick it apart without tearing the material.

‘I’ve got to go.’ Casey realised Cressida was still standing there, uncertain. ‘I’m late. And I’ve got a lot to do . . .’

‘We can talk tomorrow anyway.’

‘It was just there, in the middle of the shop.’ Cressida sounded shocked. ‘In part of Rhapso’s diffusion range, right in the middle of that big new shopping centre. I was looking through all the skirts – they’ve got some really lovely ones at the moment – and I picked up that skirt, and it just . . .’

‘It fell out?’

‘The piece of silk was stitched into the petticoats very 
loosely,’ said Cressida. ‘You wouldn’t have seen it unless . . . I was checking the seams’ – Cressida, the consummate professional under all the sparkle. ‘I’ve been to hundreds of shops, Casey. Thousands, probably. Tried on a million outfits. You never think . . .’

‘Were there any other notes? In any of the other clothes?’

‘I don’t know.’ Cressida sounded hopeless. ‘I didn’t look. Didn’t want to.’

‘I’ll go and check,’ said Casey. ‘Now.’

‘The shopping centre is open until ten.’

‘Thank you for bringing me this, Cressida.’

‘I’ve got to go now,’ Cressida said more firmly, tugging her coat around her.

‘Sure.’

They said an awkward goodbye. Casey watched Cressida disappear out through the doors, before whirling back to the escalator.

‘Where’s my coffee?’ Mock outrage from Hessa as Casey walked back into their office.

‘Hessa, look at this.’ Casey gestured her over to her desk. ‘Can you read this?’

Hessa leaned over. ‘Where did . . .’

‘Just read it,’ said Casey.