I tried to force a laugh. I felt I was being backed into a corner. “There’s nothing mysterious about me,” I said. “I wish there was. I’m really just a glorified cleaner here. I wanted to help Frances, that’s all.”

“Why?” said David. “Why did you want to help her? From a general love of humanity? A religious calling? Do we have a Good Samaritan here?”

“It’s nothing complicated,” I said. “When I was little I used to like clearing up my room, putting things in piles and arranging them. When I saw the mess this office was in, I wanted to sort it out. When the job’s done I’ll return to my old life.”

David glanced at me more sharply. “We’ll see,” he said. “I reckon you’ll find it harder to walk out on this than you think.”

He had used a silky, detached tone that made it difficult for me to decide whether he was paying me a compliment or threatening me. He moved away and I tried to continue working but he poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to my side. He looked at the receipts, letters and invoices with me, made comments and suggestions. He was helping but it felt as if he was assessing me at the same time for a test I didn’t know how to pass because I didn’t know what the questions meant.

After a few minutes I felt a hand on my shoulder and Johnny pulled up a chair. I muttered a greeting without meeting his eye. I needn’t have worried about looking awkward because the two men chatted casually as if I wasn’t there. They were talking about another restaurant they were planning to revamp. Then they wandered around the room, making phone calls, drinking coffee, chatting until it was five o’clock. As I stood up to go, David said, “Do you fancy coming for a drink with us?”

“I can’t,” I said, deliberately not making an excuse, something that could be argued with.

Johnny stepped forward. “I’m about to drive in your direction,” he said. “I could drop you.”

I shrugged, and he led me outside. We sat in his car.

“I thought you needed rescuing from their clutches,” he said.

“I can look after myself,” I said.

“That’s probably true.” There was a pause. “I meant it about driving you, though. Where shall we go? My place or yours? I’d like to see where you live. I’d like to learn something about you.”

The idea of Johnny prowling around my house trying to learn about me, about the real Gwen who wasn’t Gwen, was unbearable.

“Let’s go to your place,” I said.