“And what are the odds of some stranger just happening along this road, seeing a naked woman walking and turning out to be a passing psychopath, deciding to beat her to death?”

“That’s just the problem, isn’t it?” Stefan said. “Probably close to zero.”

“DID ANYTHING happen in the car?” Banks asked.

“No. Caxton went on being the perfect gentleman, chatting, solicitous of my comfort, anxious to help me with my dreams. Giving advice about how to behave onstage, how to deal with stage fright. Stuff like that. He even gave me a cigarette and a glass of champagne. It was the first time I’d ever tasted it.”

“In the car? Was there a driver?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And was the other man with you?”

“Yes, but he was in the front with the driver. He didn’t say anything the whole way.”

“Was either of them ever questioned?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone was.”

“And the hotel staff saw you when you arrived?”

“No. We went into a sort of underground car park at the back and got straight in a lift. I don’t remember going through reception or anything, or seeing anyone else. Not then. I suppose maybe because he was a celebrity he had a discreet way in. To be honest, I didn’t really notice. I was on cloud nine. I was with Danny Caxton and he was going to help me get into show business. I could already see my name in lights.”

“Did the driver and the other man go in with you?”

“Not the driver. Just the other man . . . he . . . yes.”

“OK. Then what happened?”

“We went up in a tiny lift to the fourth floor, a big suite of rooms, all wood paneling and old-world elegance. Gilt-framed pictures on the walls. Constable prints, Turner, stuff like that. I remember one of a horse standing by a tree. A Stubbs, maybe. It was a sad horse.”

“What happened?”

“We drank more champagne. I had never really drunk alcohol before, except a sip of my dad’s beer once when he was out, and it went straight to my head. I suppose I was giggly, a bit silly. I think I even sang him a song or something.”

“What did Caxton do then?”

“He changed. Just like that. I asked him what I should do next, you know, to get started in the business, and he led me towards the bedroom and said something about passing the audition, that people have to pay for what they get, and they should be grateful. I don’t remember it all exactly. I was feeling a bit dizzy. He said the first thing was to take some photos.”

“With your clothes off?”

“No. There was still no suggestion of funny business. He said they were to show agents and whatever. A portfolio. Anyway, the other man, the assistant, took some. He had a Polaroid camera and it was the first time I’d seen one. It was like magic the way the photos came out. I think he took some more later, too, you know, while . . . I thought I could hear the sound of the camera.”