A draught of cold air slips through the open window. She lifts her head and looks around the room. Most of her stuff is in boxes. The walls are virtually empty, as they were when she moved in.

‘What does that tell you?’ she asks herself, lighting a second cigarette, not bothering this time to lean out of the window. The other night at the house, she’d seen the estate agent’s fallen sign, its message half hidden by the maple tree. To Let. Flat 2. The wisp of an idea rises like the smoke from her cigarette.

She fiddles with a paper clip, turns a page and picks at the polish of her red-painted nails. What if she made an appointment to look around? Simple curiosity. She shakes her head, tells herself not to be stupid and to focus on the manuscript, but the thought won’t go away.

Slowly, she draws the telephone towards her, then taps out the number which she has, without even meaning to, memorised. A woman answers on the third ring.

Marina closes her eyes, opens them again. ‘Hello. I’m enquiring about Harrington Gardens.’

‘Harrington Gardens?’ The woman sounds surprised. There is a pause, and then, ‘Can you hold, please?’

‘Yes.’ Marina drums her fingers on the desk. She can hear the woman talking in the background, conferring.

She considers replacing the receiver. No harm done. But it’s too late. ‘Sorry to keep you. My colleague, Wayne, is dealing with that property, but I’m afraid he isn’t here right now. Can I take your name?’

‘Zoe Alexander,’ she says, using her middle name on impulse. Marina is unusual and the last thing she wants is to trigger a memory of her story.

A fast drive across Westbury. Careless parking in the drive. Hugs and smiles. They sit at the table. Ruth has made moussaka even though David hates aubergines. She has done it for Marina who loves them.

David eats without complaining. In his sixties, he’s a retired housing officer and a part-time musician who plays the cello in a local orchestra. An ordinary man, with dark hair turned grey, and a soft, kind face marked with two deep lines, one on either side of his mouth.

Ruth mentions a new position at the National Trust. She’s a tour guide, but promotion would mean working in the office.

‘Should I take it?’ she asks. ‘Is it time for a sedentary life?’

David smiles. Marina shakes her head and laughs. There is zero chance of Ruth accepting a job like that and they all know it.