‘You must be Victor,’ she says, standing and holding out her hand. ‘I’m Zoe. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’

He stares with unashamed admiration, holding her hand for a fraction too long, pulling her towards him as if to see her better. Marina stares coolly back, keeping it clinical. She is used to men’s – unwanted – appreciation and today she has adopted an efficient, need-to-get-the-job-done image. Her hair is twisted into a tight bun, her make-up minimal, and she wears no jewellery.

Victor insists on buying her another coffee and offers her something to eat, which she declines. At the counter, he orders an all-day breakfast and flirts with the young woman who is serving.

At the table, he sets down her coffee and his tea and then leans back in his chair and stares again. If he had a moustache, Marina thinks, he would give the ends a twirl.

‘So, Zoe,’ he says, ‘how can I help?’

She blinks, disconcerted by the use of her middle name, despite the fact she gave it to him. ‘First let me say how grateful I am for your time.’ He nods, appraising her still. She clears her throat. ‘As I mentioned, I’m writing an article. It’s about the baby that was abandoned in Harrington Gardens. In 1964.’

He frowns and scratches his face.

She tries to speak casually. ‘It was a girl. The media nicknamed her Baby Blue.’

‘Yes. I remember.’ He fumbles in his pocket and draws out a packet of Marlboro. Shaking out a cigarette, he lifts it to his lips, flips his silver Zippo and the flame catches. He inhales. As an afterthought he offers her a cigarette too.

‘No thank you.’

He leans forward. ‘Why?’

‘I’m trying to cut down.’

‘No. Why are you writing this article?’

‘Oh.’ She looks away and then back at him again. ‘Because I’m hoping to move into journalism. I work in publishing and . . .’

‘No.’ He flicks his ash into his saucer, his voice patient. ‘I mean why do you want to write about an abandoned baby?’

She glances at her notepad, gathers herself. ‘Because it’s an interesting case. I’m trying to find a new angle.’

‘You mean you want to solve the case? Like a regular Miss Marple.’ He laughs.

‘I don’t expect to do that.’ She speaks firmly now. ‘I’m planning to take a broader look at the effects on the community and specifically on the people in the house.’

Victor seems unconvinced, but then he shrugs. ‘Fire away.’

‘So, when did you live in the house?’

‘In sixty-four.’

‘Where were you before?’

A smile plays on his lips. ‘In digs.’

‘In the same area?’

‘Tooting Common.’

‘Why did you move to Harrington Gardens?’

He taps his cigarette again. ‘I’m not sure that’s your business.’

Has she overstepped the mark? Flustered, she turns a page.