The article is more salacious than those Marina has read before. The focus is on Eileen, describing her as an American model turned actress who performed on stage in the West End and threw parties with her one-time boyfriend, actor Leonard Crisp. There is a quote from a neighbour describing the noise and more specifically a daytime disturbance when Eileen threw Leonard’s possessions out of the window. Marina reads in disbelief. There is more speculation about the woman who found the baby than there is about who might have abandoned her and why.

Despite the cold, Marina wants the window open. The air inside the flat is stale. She puts both hands on the edge of the wood and shoves hard. The frame moves upwards by an inch, enough for a thread of air to limbo through the gap.

Someone has pegged out their washing, taking advantage of the frail sunshine: a brown dress, an orange housecoat, a pair of tights. A man appears from the side of the house, feet crunching on the gravel. His overcoat hangs loosely and he wears black leather gloves and a trilby, pulled low. He moves slowly, using his stick, pausing to prod at a clump of weeds, to bat away a stone, to jab at the washing on the line. He pokes the dress as if it’s an opponent and his stick is a sword. When he reaches the bushes that partly obscure the end of the garden, he looks back at the house. Instinctively, Marina steps to the side and watches again as he pauses, swivels and swipes at the leaves. Pushing through, he disappears. Marina watches curiously for his return. Perhaps it’s Giovanni, the elusive tenant of Flat 1.

The day is changing as the sun drops and the shadows lengthen. A stillness hovers over the garden, and now Mrs Hyde appears too, scuttling along the path around the side of the house, carrying a laundry basket that dwarfs her diminutive body. She grabs the dress, the housecoat, the tights, unpegging, shaking, folding. Her white hair is askew, her skirt long. She finishes her chore and then puts the basket down. For a moment, she just stands there, hands on her hips as if she is thinking, and then she hurries down the path in the direction the man took, leaving her washing behind.

Later, Marina sits at her desk with a blanket around her shoulders. She’s been working on Agata’s manuscript, following her parents’ path into Auschwitz through the barbed wire and the searchlights and the smoke. From time to time she looks out the window, shocked almost to see carefree children passing with their parents, heading for the common.

Distracted, she puts aside the manuscript, finds her coat and her gloves and goes outside. On impulse, she continues down to the basement. There’s no bell or knocker, so she bangs on the door. A few minutes later Ron appears. His face lights up. ‘Coffee?’