‘I can give you a catalogue? This week it’s coins and medals, which I can’t imagine is what you’re here for. It’ll be mostly men who really should get out more,’ she added with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Although don’t tell Elliot I said that. However, we’ve a fine art auction at the end of the month. That might be more your style.’

‘Actually, it’s Mr Howard I was hoping to see.’

‘It is?’

‘That’s right.’

‘May I ask why you would like to see him?’

‘That’s a very good question.’

Judith was about to think of her excuse when a man’s voice spoke from directly behind her.

‘Yes, why do you want to see me?’

Judith was so startled that her mind instantly went blank. To buy herself time, she turned and saw the man from the online photo leaning nonchalantly in a doorway behind her. He was in his late fifties with long-flowing grey hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore brogues, tan corduroy trousers, and an old checked-shirt under a tatty grey cardigan.

It was Elliot Howard.

There was an easeful, almost amused superiority to his manner, and Judith had a sudden insight that Elliot was inordinately proud of having a full head of hair at his age, which is why he kept it so long. And for all that Elliot was looking so relaxed, there was something about him that Judith found a touch unsettling.

‘Well, wouldn’t you like to know,’ Judith said, in lieu of knowing what else to say.

‘I do. Which is why I asked. Why do you want to see me?’

‘Aha!’

Inside, Judith cringed. Aha? Was that really the best she could do?

The woman at the computer came to her rescue.

‘I know, why don’t you both go into Elliot’s office? You can have a nice chat there.’

‘Okay, darling,’ Elliot said to the woman with a smile. ‘You’re the boss,’ he added, although it was clear from his patrician tone that she wasn’t.

Elliot led the way into his office and Judith had no choice but to follow. Her mind was scrabbling for something to say, anything to say.

‘That’s Daisy,’ Elliot said as he went and sat behind a large office desk. ‘A wonderful woman. My wife. Don’t know why she puts up with me. Anyway, how can I help you?’

Judith’s mind was still a whirling blank, but she could see a number of photos in frames on the walls, so she went over to look at them. They were faded with age and mostly showed teenage boys rowing on the river, or wearing blazers while holding various silver cups and medals. The shield above each photo was of one of the local school’s, Sir William Borlase’s Grammar School, and she could see the hand-written names of the boys underneath always included an ‘A. Howard’.