‘They suit you,’ he says, kissing me lightly on the neck. ‘I’m glad you like them. Now, let’s eat.’

Three hours and two bottles of champagne later, we’re still out on the terrace. Connor has located a couple of herringbone-patterned wool blankets and we sit huddled up together on the bench, looking up at the night sky.

‘Thank you for this evening,’ I whisper. ‘It’s been a wonderful birthday. One of the best I’ve had for a long time.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he says, nuzzling my hair with his mouth. ‘I love being with you, Vanessa. I just wish that … No, it doesn’t matter.’

‘No, go on,’ I say, pulling him closer. ‘What were you going to say?’

‘I just wish we could always be like this,’ he says, stroking my arm lightly. ‘I hate it when you have to go back to Fulham. Waking up without you, it’s horrible. I know it’s crazy, because we’ve only been together for a few months, but you’re the person I want to be with, Vanessa. I know that. What I’m saying is, how about we just go for it? How about you move in here properly?’

He sits up straight and looks at me. Everything about the evening feels right: the air, the food, the music, the champagne and the warm fug it has enveloped me in.

‘I want that too,’ I say, and his expression relaxes into a broad smile. ‘I want to be with you all the time. God, sometimes I’m even jealous of your colleagues because they get to see you more than I do. Waking up next to you each morning would be heaven.’

‘You mean it?’

‘Yes, I mean it,’ I say, reaching out for my glass to drain the last of the champagne. ‘I love you, Connor. And you’re mine. You’re all mine.’

5. Now

West Hampstead Police Station

‘It isn’t me.’

I hadn’t meant to speak but Bains was goading me, pushing me to admit that I was there, that I had something to do with Geoffrey’s death. In the end, the words just spilled from me without my consent.

‘Honestly,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady, though my legs are trembling. ‘That person on the CCTV. It isn’t me. Like you said earlier, that woman’s name is Iris Lawson.’

‘No, Vanessa,’ says Bains, his eyes widening as though he can’t quite believe how crazy I am. ‘That is what you told our friend Mr Carter-Vaughan your name was.’

I shake my head.

‘It wasn’t me,’ I say, as beside me Frank Solomon clears his throat. ‘It’s just … just someone who looks like me.’

‘A doppelgänger?’ says Bains, leaning back in his chair. ‘That’s an interesting theory. Straight out of a fairy story. But then, you’re rather fond of stories, aren’t you, Vanessa?’