She shook her head vigorously. “Like I said, all I saw when I touched the crystal was an image of Amelia buying it. It was after that I must have knocked the stone angel by accident and that was how the ball was dislodged and smashed.”

The lie hung in the silence between them. It sounded loud. Lizzie could feel guilt flooding her face and jumped up. “Really, I should...” She waved a vague hand around. “I’m supposed to be heading off tomorrow and I haven’t finished my packing.”

“Yes, of course.” Johnny accepted his dismissal like the well-mannered child he was. “I’d better be going too. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I... I guess I just needed to talk to someone.”

“No problem,” Lizzie said. “I’m here if you need me.”

“If I might just use your bathroom before I go...” Johnny sounded awkward. He blushed.

“No problem,” Lizzie said again.

Whilst he was gone, she collected up the mugs and took them through to the kitchen. She was still thinking about the stone angel. Should she give it back to Johnny? It felt so awkward now, after all these years, especially with the family stories of how it bore a curse. It probably wasn’t the right time.

When Johnny reappeared he had his jacket on and his rucksack slung over one shoulder.

“Would you mind walking with me as far as the Tube station?” he asked diffidently. “I could show you the plaque marking the spot of Baynard’s Castle on the way.”

“Sure,” Lizzie said. “I’ll get my coat.” The last thing she really wanted to do was to go looking at historic monuments in the dark but it would be good to see Johnny safely on his way home.

The foyer was as empty as when Johnny had come in. Jason glanced up incuriously from the desk and then went back to his computer screen. The phone rang; he took the call quietly, discreetly. Lizzie wondered suddenly how she had come to live in such a hermetically sealed bubble. Sometimes it felt as though her life wasn’t real at all.

Out on the street it was completely different. The air was warm and loud, alive with noise, thick with the scent of fat, spices and fumes. It was a shock, like a slap across the face. Lizzie dug her hands into the pockets of her coat and followed Johnny’s long, loping stride down the alley at the side of the block of flats. It was full of rubbish and the smell of decaying food, as unlike the polished frontage as it would be possible to find.

“I guess you never see this stuff,” Johnny said, catching her expression in the dim cast of the street lights. He grinned. “It’s taxis, limos, penthouses, and five-star hotels all the way.”

“I don’t walk much,” Lizzie admitted, “at least not in London.” And these days, she thought, she seldom went anywhere else except for when she was filming. It was weird to realise all of a sudden how much her life, on the face of it so privileged and glittering, had shrunk to fit such small parameters.