Nic ushered in Joseph Broad who faced Laure across a small desk. He was thirtyish, of mixed race, undeniably handsome, and he looked wretched. His expression was one with which she had grown familiar. This was a man who was not at peace with himself.

In the office next door Nic was on the phone and visitors to the museum were coming and going up and down the stairs. In the interview room, however, it was calm and quiet, which was the plan.

‘I don’t know why I’m here.’ He corrected himself. ‘Yes, I do.’

The struggle for disclosure was also familiar to Laure. ‘Beginning at the beginning helps both of us,’ she said gently. ‘Take your time. I’m here to listen.’

Joseph Broad drew out an expensive-looking wallet and extracted a railway ticket from it. The manner in which he held it suggested that the ticket burnt him and he dropped it onto the table. ‘As you know, my name is Joseph Broad but it should be Joseph Murry.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Laure saw May settle further into the chair, her hair colour almost lost against the yellow walls.

‘Murry is the name of my birth mother who I tracked down.’

Laure sat with her hands in her lap, waiting. Joseph Broad looked down at his feet and then up at Laure.

‘She lives in a rundown area near Nottingham. In a tower block. I went to look before I made contact. It shocked me as to how bad it was. No one should have to live like that. The contrast between our lives was dreadful.’ He gestured to the wallet.

The wallet, the Brooks Brothers shirt, the upmarket city shoes all told their own story.

She waited as he collected himself. Trial and error had taught her that silence was powerful and acted like a sponge to draw out the sting. Often those who donated imagined, in deciding on this big step, that whatever it was driving them had been harnessed and brought under control. They knew what they were going to say. They had it down pat. They rehearsed it before they came. They knew how they felt.

Except, they did not. When it came to the point, very often the reservoirs of pain and anguish broke their banks and swamped their good intentions.

Laure smiled encouragement at Joseph Broad.

‘I made contact,’ he said. ‘We talked on the phone. She told me that at the time she felt it was impossible to keep me. Her circumstances were rock bottom and she thought I would have the chance of a better life if she gave me away.’

His distress impelled him to his feet and over to the small window – a reaction which he might have been surprised to learn was a common one.

May’s sneeze fractured the silence. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ She found a tissue and blew her nose.

‘Do you know Paris?’ Laure asked Joseph.