‘I said, I didn’t go to Holly Maze House in the end,’ I say, staring down at my clasped hands. ‘I … I was on my way out of the office when I remembered I’d arranged to meet my sister for lunch and –’

‘Hang on, I’m confused,’ says Bains, putting his head in his hands. ‘You leave your sister’s house in Wimbledon first thing Saturday morning to travel to Hampstead to insist on booking an appointment to view a house you are in no position to buy. Then, once you’ve booked it, you suddenly remember you have to meet your sister for lunch?’

I feel bad for lying and even worse for bringing Georgie into all of this.

‘Yes,’ I say, trying to sound composed. ‘She … she works in Mayfair. We’d arranged the lunch date the night before but in all the excitement of – I mean … after seeing Holly Maze House was up for sale I just got carried away and it slipped my mind.’

‘Miss Adams, you can see why your behaviour may be confusing to others, surely?’ says Bains. ‘Like I said earlier, we all have our moments of escapism – spending lottery wins in our head, pretending we’re Elton John when we get on the karaoke down the pub, that sort of thing – but the way you have gone about creating whole new personas for yourself, duping estate agents and travelling up and down the country to view multi-million-pound properties you cannot possibly afford has been calculated and, may I say, somewhat disturbing. Not just that, but you’d become more than a menace to a lot of hardworking estate agents.’

‘It’s not like that,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘It was just harmless curiosity, that’s all.’

‘Harmless curiosity?’ says Bains, nodding his head. ‘You see, Vanessa, I don’t think this is just harmless curiosity, as you put it. I think you visit these houses to torture yourself with what you can’t have.’

I shake my head. I don’t know what he’s getting at but his voice is growing loud and menacing.

‘And what happens when you can’t have something, Vanessa, hmm?’ he continues, spittle gathering at the corner of his mouth. ‘You get angry, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, my voice dry and reedy.

‘Well, let me make it a bit clearer,’ he says.

He reaches across and opens the cardboard folder, licking his finger as he flicks through the pages.

‘It seems, Vanessa,’ he says, laying the folder flat in front of him, ‘that you’ve had a rather eventful few months.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say.

‘You left your job at Luna London after increasingly erratic behaviour,’ says Bains, looking down at a sheet of paper. ‘Spiralled into depression. Couldn’t pay your rent. And then there are these violent altercations.’