And then, one day, the tiger vanished from the frame altogether. Everything else remained the same: the solemn-faced girl in mourning, the black parasol, the snow, the stars, the sparkle of magic between the bare branches of the winter trees. But the tiger was gone, leaving not even a paw print behind. When James next visited Half Moon House with more orchids for the garden, he could hardly believe it, but Beatrice took it in her stride. Such a thing was nothing compared to the wonders she’d seen in the Winter Garden itself.

‘But where did the tiger go?’ James had asked.

They were in the garden laboratory that he had helped her set up in the grounds. Beatrice finally felt like she was getting somewhere with the plums and did not appreciate the need to make conversation with James just then.

‘He’s in the house,’ she said, not taking her eyes off her work.

Whilst they’d been travelling together she had, somewhere along the way, returned to her old ease in front of James and no longer stammered in front of him at all. It was rather nice, to have one person in the world to whom she could express herself properly.

‘But that’s extraordinary!’ James said. ‘You’ve seen him?’

She glanced up. ‘I hear him mostly. He wanders around. At night.’

‘But … why is he not in the Winter Garden? By all accounts, he’s the most important part of it.’

By now James had met another couple of people who claimed to have been to the garden, including Jani, and they had both said the same thing. The tiger was the heart of the garden, but he did not approach anyone. Nobody touched him. Not ever. No one except Beatrice.

‘What is it about you that’s so different?’ James had asked.

But Beatrice had no answer. Now she gazed at the painting and felt frustration tangle up her insides. Even the tiger seemed to have changed towards her. She’d told James the truth about hearing him move around the house. Every night there was the creak of his great paws upon the floorboards, and sometimes she would find a star that had fallen loose, sparkling softly in the dark. But she had not seen him properly since she left the garden, let alone touched him. She seemed to be always just behind him, always just missing him, barely catching the flicker of his shadow as he left the room before her.