‘I can tell you a few. Luckily, my mother had a habit of scribbling names and dates on the backs of pictures, but obviously not all.’ He sat down and picked one up. ‘See this man? He was the local bobby who policed this area on his bike. His name was Constable Frank Herring, and I happen to know that his great granddaughter, Penny, still lives in the area. I’m told that she is very much into genealogy. I’ll bet she’d be happy to talk to us if I asked.’

‘Oh, really? That would be amazing!’

They spent about half an hour discussing the photos, until Kate said, ‘I really have to go and do some work, Matt. I’m almost done with my illustrations for the last but one book in the Fairy Dreams series. I can’t wait to get rid of them.’

She spoke of the paintings as if she hated them. Matt said, ‘I’m sure they’re amazing, Kate. I remember all the earlier ones you did, and they were so beautiful. I don’t suppose I could see them, could I?’

For a moment she hesitated, then, ‘Yes, yes, of course you can.’ She led the way upstairs.

It came as a shock to see there was a lock on the studio door, but Matt didn’t comment. He knew that this hurt Will terribly and seeing it for himself brought it home to him. Poor Will. He must be living in a nightmare.

Kate’s desk was covered in illustrations, with two larger studies displayed on easels. They were indeed brilliant, but even Matt, who had no eye for the finer points of art, noticed something different about these pictures. They were far more powerful than the earlier depictions of the Magical Garden of Gort and had none of their insouciance. ‘They’ve evolved,’ he stated, slightly in awe.

‘They needed to,’ she said flatly.

‘They’re breathtaking.’ While he was examining one of the larger pictures, he heard the doorbell ring.

‘Oh, that will be Dougie, the farmer. Will said he’d be dropping off a sack of potatoes. I’d better go and pay him. I won’t be a minute.’ Kate hurried out and ran down the stairs.

Matt looked around. Where were those other pictures, the ones that Will had told him about? He knew he had little time. Then he saw a series of larger paintings stacked at the back of the studio and covered in dustsheets.

He sprinted across and lifted the sheet from the first one. And gasped. Will had been right.