‘Oh, undoubtedly. He tried to conceal it, of course. With children his age, particularly boys, it’s all about hiding how you really feel. There’s a misconception that, if you acknowledge that there’s something missing from your life, even inwardly, you immediately become more vulnerable. So kids pretend. They make-believe. Precisely as they do when they’re at play.’

The chaplain pointed over Fleet’s shoulder. ‘Do you know who that is?’ He was gesturing towards the largest of the stained-glass windows, the one directly behind the altar. The image was of one of Christ’s apostles. St Jude, if Fleet wasn’t mistaken.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he told the chaplain, not wanting to get drawn into a discussion on theology. Or, worse, his own personal beliefs.

‘Jude Thaddeus,’ Father Steiner announced. ‘The patron saint of lost causes. The glass was installed long before I came to Beaconsfield, but I always felt it was appropriate. A bit like those cracks you noticed before. They seem symbolic to me, too – of the pressures on the students here that go largely unseen, but that can be no less destructive if left unchecked.’

Fleet looked again at the cracks behind the altar, before settling his gaze on the stained-glass window. It showed a man with a brown beard, his head ringed with flame. The image was dominated by greens and yellows, further adding to the jaundiced haze.

‘You said Ben helped,’ Fleet said, turning back to Father Steiner. ‘With what exactly? Do you mean he was interested in Catholicism? That he participated in the chapel’s services?’

The chaplain gave a humourless laugh. ‘Oh, no. Nothing like that. I won’t deny that I tried to open Ben’s mind to the existence of God. One of the things missing from his life, I would have said, was faith. But I could tell he considered it nothing more than a bunch of mumbo jumbo. Much as he tried to pretend otherwise.’

‘So why was he here?’ said Nicky. ‘Or rather, why did he keep coming back?’

‘He liked to draw,’ the chaplain said.

Fleet and Nicky shared a glance. Father Steiner obviously noticed.

‘It’s not what you expected me to say, I can tell. But Ben had a passion for architecture, and something about the chapel made a part of him sing. I’ll be honest, architecture is far from my own specialist subject, but Ben and I would talk about the building – about buildings in general – and sometimes those discussions would branch into others. Conversations about God, occasionally. About family, every so often. We would rarely digress for long, because Ben was always wise to what I was doing.’

‘Which was?’ said Fleet.

‘I was trying to get him to open up,’ the chaplain said. ‘Which Ben resisted, as I said, but even so I had a feeling he was pleased to be talking at all.’