‘Yep. Skinny boy that had a crush on her.’

‘How old was he?’

Victor shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Her age, maybe.’

‘And they were friends, not lovers?’

‘Definitely not lovers.’

‘Where did he live?’

‘Above a grocer’s shop.’

‘Where exactly?’

Now Victor grins. He’s back to his old self, enjoying the fact that he has information she wants. ‘Near Thomas Littleton’s bookshop,’ he tells her finally.

‘Is the grocer’s still there?’

‘Yes, but he isn’t. That shop must have changed hands at least three times since then.’

‘Oh.’ Marina tries to hide her disappointment.

He is looking at her shrewdly. Marina detects an intelligence in his eyes. She is rapidly changing her opinion of Victor. There is more to him than she first thought.

‘How long do you plan to stay in the house?’ he asks suddenly.

‘I don’t know. It depends.’

‘On what?’

He has turned the tables and is questioning her. She keeps her voice neutral. ‘Work. Money. I’m applying for jobs. I might do a bit of teaching.’

‘You’re hoping to sell this article,’ he says directly.

She flushes. ‘Yes, well. I’m going to try.’ Moving away from the topic, she talks about renting a different flat. ‘The house isn’t the most . . .’ She stops. Is it prudent to be critical when Victor knows Kenneth?

He understands. ‘I get you. Kenneth is a lazy bugger.’

She looks at him. ‘You were friends back then?’

He shrugs. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Tell me something. What did you mean last time when you said he didn’t notice what went on under his nose?’

He observes her as if weighing her up, and has another drink. ‘Money.’

‘What about it?’

‘He had a whole load of money that he’d stolen. I mean stolen twice. Once in a raid and once from his gang.’

‘And?’

Victor grins. ‘Actually, I should say it was stolen three times.’

‘Three?’ Now she guesses. ‘You mean you stole it?’

‘Some of it.’ He looks pleased with himself. ‘Kenneth didn’t miss it. Well, if he did, he never suspected it was me. I had personal problems. Things needed paying for.’

He is rambling, justifying himself, drinking again. She thinks that if she keeps quiet he’ll explain. She is right. He talks about his girlfriend – the daughter of his landlady, who he’d got pregnant. ‘I had to marry her. I didn’t have a choice.’

Marina pricks up her ears at the mention of a baby. Do the dates work? She thinks they might – although her excitement is tempered by the thought that this man could be her father. Surely not. She regards him beneath lowered lids. They have nothing in common, physically or personality wise. Besides, he hasn’t finished his story.

She wants to press him further, but suspects he’ll either clam up or become suspicious. She’ll bide her time, try a roundabout route. ‘And the money?’