‘As a matter of fact I particularly like the later ones.’

That she was saying this only to be awkward, Antonia had no doubt. How could anyone like ponderous, plotless confections like Found in the Street? Calcified by cliche. That was not a bad phrase. Mysteries without a solution, stories without an end. Was Ingrid a mighty metaphysician, obsessively searching for meaning, solace and peace in the wake of some dreadful personal tragedy? Did she write poetry of the more obscure kind? Conventions shield us from the shivering void – Really, Antonia thought, the silly ideas that come into my head.

Beatrice was speaking. ‘Patricia Highsmith always wrote about psychotic aesthetes and alternative lives, didn’t she? About people assuming different identities and doing all sorts of truly appalling things to other people, like – like smashing their skulls with ashtrays and forcing lethal doses of sleeping pills down their throats and – and holding their heads under water?’

‘There is much more to Patricia Highsmith than that, Bee,’ Ingrid said. ‘And when you say “psychotic aesthetes”, you mean Ripley, right? Well, he is the only one.’ ‘I am sure he isn’t the only one,’ Beatrice said stubbornly.

How intensely tedious this was becoming. Antonia stole a glance at her watch.

‘One must be very unhappy to want to be somebody else, don’t you think?’ Beatrice appealed to Antonia.

‘Well, yes – I suppose so.’

‘Or very disturbed.’ Ingrid gave a short laugh. She put her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder.

‘There are people apparently who suffer from a multiple personality disorder without being aware of it! Isn’t that fascinating? I have tried to imagine what it must be like -’

‘Shall we go, Bee?’

The way Ingrid kept saying ‘Bee’ – somehow it ceased to be a woman’s nickname or a diminutive; it didn’t bring to mind the insect either, rather it became an incantation – a sorceress’s formula. At once Antonia castigated herself for her fanciful thoughts. The lack of air, she decided. She wanted to leave the hall, stretch her legs, have tea, phone Hugh. She glanced towards her bag. She hadn’t left her mobile at home again, had she?