On impulse, she turns to Flat 5 and knocks softly. A moment goes by and she raps a little louder. Leaning her head closer, she listens. Nothing. She imagines a woman, although it could be a man, standing a foot away, the two of them separated by the door. Marina plumps for a woman. Is she there, deciding whether to admit this unexpected visitor? Is her hand on the latch? A narrow hand with long fingers and trimmed nails: a pianist’s hands. Is she old or is she young? Can Marina hear breathing, in time with her own?

A few more moments pass and the door remains resolutely shut. Reluctantly Marina leaves. This person, Kolinski, doesn’t want to be disturbed.

On the way down, the door to Flat 3 opens abruptly and out steps a short woman in a plain brown coat, a matching hat with a pin, and a handbag hooked over one arm. Seeing Marina, she startles and raises a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh,’ she says. Her face pales.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Marina immediately. ‘Did I startle you?’ She smiles. ‘You must be Mrs Hyde. I’ve just moved into Flat 2 and I saw your name on the post box.’

The woman doesn’t answer, only gawks at Marina. In her late sixties, she has a smear of pink across her lips, but she’s missed the edges, and her powder accentuates the lines on her face. Her features are sharp, eyes small. Wisps of white hair escape from her hat. Her pose is still, her gaze steady. Marina apologises again for making her jump. Her voice sounds loud in the quiet of the house.

The woman recovers, nods and turns to fiddle with the lock. ‘I hope you’ve settled in,’ she says over her shoulder. Her voice is rasping, almost inaudible.

‘Thank you,’ Marina replies. ‘I heard the piano and was curious. The player is very talented.’ She hesitates, hoping Mrs Hyde will provide information, but the woman doesn’t seem the gossiping type. Quite the contrary, in fact. Ignoring the comment, she opens her handbag, drops the keys inside and closes it with a snap.

Now Marina sees that she has a bible in her hand. ‘Off to church?’ she says, anxious to be friendly. It isn’t Sunday. Perhaps she has a bible class.

Mrs Hyde grimaces and nods and then heads towards the stairs.

‘Have you lived here long?’ Marina calls after her.

No answer. Maybe she’s hard of hearing. There’s certainly nothing wrong with her mobility. Marina hurries to keep up as the older woman scuttles down the stairs. In the hall, she asks again.

Mrs Hyde pauses and blinks. ‘For a while,’ she says, ‘and now if you’ll excuse me . . .’