“Now, Max,” said Klaus. Max could tell that he was doing that motherly voice, where you sound extra cheerful and extra sensible to make everyone feel better. He pointed a needle at her. “I haven’t really talked to you yet. Report for duty! Full name? Where are you heading? Spill the beans!”

“Max Morel,” said Max. “I’m going to Istanbul to visit my great-aunt Elodie.” And she stared pointedly out of the window, to make it clear that she didn’t want to be cheered up, and she wasn’t going to talk any more. They were up in the mountains now, chugging through dense fir forests. Trees filled their windows, snowy branches pawing at the carriage as they rushed past. Max felt much too hot.

Ester had been silent throughout the whole episode, chewing and glaring, but at Max’s words her head rose up out of her furs.

“Elodie Morel?” she hollered. “You’re related to Elodie Morel?”

Despite herself, Max looked around at that. “Yes,” she said. “Do you know her?”

“Yes!” Ester gave the table an enthusiastic slap. “I knew her back when she was still Elodie Yavuz, before her Mr Yavuz popped his clogs. Haven’t seen her for years, though. The last time must have been – oh – the Berlin auction of ’67. I had no idea she’d changed her name back to Morel.”

“Berlin?” Marguerite echoed. “’67?”

“Yes.” The table got another good slap. “Absolutely unbearable woman. She outbid me on the Bamberg Crystal Penguin. Well, well. Elodie Morel’s great-niece.”

Max looked from Marguerite to Ester, and back again. Marguerite was staring at Ester as though she was seeing her properly for the first time.

“Excuse me, mon chou,” she said, “I’m feeling rather unwell. I might just have a quick lie-down.” And her eyes flickered briefly to Max, and Max knew with absolute certainty that “lie-down” meant “follow a hunch about Ester Rosenkrantz”. Her heart quickened. She tried to look concerned about Sister Marguerite’s health, but her face went all jumpy, and she couldn’t remember how she was supposed to arrange it.

Marguerite’s look had unsettled her. If it had been anyone else, Max would have said that she looked afraid.

As Marguerite bustled out of the breakfast car, Klaus stood, and was with her in two enormous strides. “Here,” he said, tucking a huge arm around her, “lean on me a bit. You are looking peaky. Do you feel faint?”

“Thank you, Klaus, but I’m quite all right. Don’t worry yourself.”

“Nonsense! I’m seeing you safely to bed. You’ve gone pale…” And Klaus steered Marguerite through the door, arm still clamped around her, refusing to be brushed off. The door slid shut behind them, shuddering as it banged into place.

Ester looked at Max. Max looked at Ester.