‘What exactly did Eleanor say?’ Perez appeared to be taking no more than a polite interest.

‘Of course I can’t be certain of the exact words, though I do pride myself on my memory.’

‘If you could just do the best you can.’ He smiled.

The woman smiled back, obviously charmed. ‘The gist was: “How can you expect me to go away with you, with this hanging over us. Just sort it out!”’

Perez nodded, as though to compliment her memory. ‘That’s very helpful. You have no idea who was on the other end of the line?’

The woman shook her head. ‘I assume that it was her husband, but from the office of course I couldn’t hear anything from the other end of the line.’

‘Of course.’ Perez thought they’d be able to trace the call from Eleanor’s mobile records, though that would take time. ‘Have you ever met Mr Longstaff?’ It was hard to imagine the dour man in this whimsical place, but perhaps he’d come along to a social event with Eleanor.

The woman shook her head. ‘Just the lovely Eleanor. We’ll all miss her.’

Perez left the building. Walking down the quiet street, he was still not sure what he’d achieved by the visit.

Eleanor’s mother lived in an apartment in a large white terrace in Pimlico. Ringing the bell, which was an old-fashioned pull, Perez felt momentarily overwhelmed. It came to him that there might be another door, a tradesmen’s entrance, and perhaps he would be expected to use that; he even wondered if he might be greeted by a housekeeper. But when the door was opened, it was by a woman who could only be Eleanor’s mother. The hair was a different colour – it had been immaculately cut and dyed various shades of dark blonde to make it look almost natural – but there were the same nose and cheekbones as he’d seen in Eleanor’s photo on Polly Gilmour’s computer.