The second room is empty apart from an easel, and a desk and chair facing the small square window looking out at the sea. A palette of paint, and a jar full of brushes are on a small table; paintings are propped against the wall. He steps closer, and stares at one of the paintings. ‘Oh God,’ he whispers, as he takes in the portrait. It’s Alice’s father – but this time there’s no doubting it’s him. It’s exactly how he looked when Leon first met him. How he looked just before he died. This painting isn’t as good as the one in the hotel dining room. It’s as though the artist in still honing their skills. He grabs it, relieved it’s not wet, and shoves it under his arm.

The third room is locked.

‘There’s nobody up there,’ he says lumbering down the narrow staircase, and into the lounge. He looks at Alice, and opens his mouth, ready to tell her about the painting, when Christine appears in the doorway that joins the lounge and kitchen.

‘Nobody in the kitchen,’ she says, hands on her hips, eyes flashing behind her glasses. ‘The back door’s unlocked, and I’ve checked outside, couldn’t see anyone.’

‘That’s weird, because I could have sworn I saw movement when I looked in through the window,’ Faith says, eyes leaping about as though she thinks someone will jump out of the sideboard, or from behind the floral curtains that drape each side of the window. She shakes her head. ‘I must have been mistaken. My mind playing tricks.’

‘Not surprising with what we’ve all been through, love,’ Christine says, touching her arm gently. She looks at Leon. ‘What have you got there?’

He tugs the painting from under his arm. ‘I found it upstairs.’

Alice stares at it, tears filling her eyes as she clearly recognises her father’s face. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

Leon wishes he could transport her far away. Make everything right. He hands her the picture, and she continues to stare at it.

‘Look, a phone,’ Christine says eyes widening. She points to a small table in the corner, where a cumbersome old-fashioned phone sits. ‘Is it for real or some kind of ornament?’

Faith dashes over, picks up the receiver, and pins it to her ear. ‘Thank God, there’s a line.’