‘Of course you are,’ Judith said kindly as she crossed the gallery and sat down in the spare chair at the woman’s desk. Next, Judith rootled in her handbag and pulled out a packet of pocket tissues. She handed one over.

‘Thank you,’ the woman said, before blowing her nose.

‘I should introduce myself,’ Judith said. ‘I’m Judith Potts.’

‘I know. You live in that big house on the river.’

‘Oh. Have we met before?’

‘Once, actually,’ the woman said, smiling at the memory. ‘I was being hassled by some boys outside the pub a couple of years ago. You stepped in and scared them off.’

‘I did?’ Judith had no recollection of the event, although it sounded very much like the sort of thing she’d do. She couldn’t bear how men seemed to operate in packs at times, picking on young women on their own.

‘I’m Antonia,’ the woman said. ‘Antonia Webster. And thanks for helping me that time. You were totally amazing.’

‘I’m sure you didn’t need any help, you look capable enough.’

Judith rootled in her bag again and pulled out an old-fashioned tin of travel sweets.

‘Would you like a sweet?’

Antonia didn’t quite know what to say to the question.

‘No?’ Judith asked. ‘Then do you mind if I have one?’

Judith popped the lid of the tin, plucked a boiled sweet from within the icing sugar, put it in her mouth and sucked on it for a few seconds.

‘Lime,’ she pronounced with satisfaction. ‘My favourite. Now, I hope you don’t mind me coming here, but if I helped you in the past, then maybe you could help me this time. You see, I’m Stefan’s neighbour and I’m trying to work out what happened to him. It’s so terribly sad. I take it you work here?’

‘I do,’ Antonia said. ‘And of course I’ll help. I’m Mr Dunwoody’s assistant. Just for the summer. Before I go to uni.’

‘So you’ve not been here long?’

‘No. But Mr Dunwoody was so kind, I can’t believe he’s gone.’

‘I’d agree with you there. But how was he kind, would you say?’

‘Well, he was interested in me. You know? About what I thought. About politics. Or the environment. Or what I was going to do at uni.’

‘He was interested in you?’

‘Not in that way,’ Antonia said, picking up on Judith’s tone. ‘He wasn’t a creep. He was just an old man. That’s how he described himself. An old man. Who lived on his own with all of his art. I liked him.’

This description certainly chimed with Judith’s limited wave-to-her-neighbour-once-a-fortnight relationship with Stefan. He always seemed happy enough to see her, and always had something to call across the river. ‘Beautiful morning!’ Or, ‘Lovely day!’ he’d shout. Judith smiled sadly at the memory.