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at the kid in Italian. ‘You could have got yourself killed.’
    The boy hung his head and stared down at his feet. His hair was longish and sandy, his eyes blue and his face a lot paler than it had been just a moment ago. He looked genuinely sorry, and more than a little shaken. Softening, Ben crouched down in front of him so that he wouldn’t seem like a huge big angry adult towering over him. ‘What’s your name?’ he said in a gentler tone.
    The kid didn’t reply for a moment, then glanced up nervously from his feet and muttered, ‘Gianni.’
    ‘Was that your pet cat you were chasing after, Gianni?’
    A shake of the head.
    ‘Do you live around here?’ He was too neatly dressed to have come far, and Ben could see he wasn’t some kind of street urchin running wild about the place.
    Gianni pointed through the trees at the side of the road.
    ‘Are your parents at home?’
    Gianni didn’t reply. He could obviously see where this was leading, and was scared of getting into trouble. His eyes began to mist up, and he sniffed, and then again. There was a trace of a quiver in his lower lip.
    ‘Nobody’s going to yell at you,’ Ben said. ‘I promise.’ He stood up and looked around him. There was no sign of anyone around. They were on the village outskirts. The kid’s home must be the other side of the woods. ‘I think we need to find your mother,’ he said, guiding the boy to the verge. ‘Now stay there and don’t move.’ He quickly jumped back into the car and pulled it into the side of the road. It was too warm to wear his leather jacket. He left it on the passenger seat. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, taking the kid’s arm gently but firmly, bleeping the car locks as they set off on foot.
    It wasn’t until they’d walked down the side of the road for some hundred metres that Ben spotted the large, imposing mansion through the trees in the distance, nestled within what looked like its own piece of parkland behind a stone wall. Jutting out from behind the old part of the building was an ultra-modern extension, an enormous steel and glass construction that looked as if it had only recently been completed, judging by the unfinished grounds.
    There were no other homes in sight.
    ‘Is that your house?’ Ben said to Gianni.
    No reply.
    ‘You don’t say a lot, do you?’ Ben asked, and when there was still no response he smiled and added, ‘That’s OK. You don’t have to.’
    They walked on, and a few metres further down the road came to a bend and then a gap in the wall. The iron gates were open and a winding private lane led up through the trees towards the isolated house.
    From the number of cars parked outside the building, and the two guys in suits hanging around near the trimmed hedge who seemed to be there in some kind of official capacity, Ben realised it wasn’t a residential property. It looked as if some kind of function or gathering was happening inside.
    ‘Are we in the right place?’ he asked the boy. Gianni gave a slight nod, resigned by now to the terrible punishment that was in store for him.
    Ben led the boy towards the building. As they approached, he could see people milling around inside the main entrance, smiling, greeting one another, hands being shaken and a great deal of excited chatter. There were no signs anywhere, nothing to indicate what the event was. Ben was nearing the door, still holding Gianni’s arm, when one of the official-looking guys in suits peeled himself away from the hedge and stepped up. Close-cropped hair, crocodile features, expressionless button eyes, arms crossed over his belly, the suit cheap and wrinkled: typical security goon. Ben had dealt with a million of them.
    ‘May I see your invitation, sir?’
    ‘I don’t have an invitation,’ Ben said, meeting his stony gaze. ‘I found this boy out on the road and I think his family are inside.’
    ‘This is a private exhibition, not open to the public. Nobody can enter without an invitation,’ the guy