He gazed at the phone in astonishment. He had quite often found it difficult to understand what women were complaining to him about, but never had any complaint been as totally incomprehensible as this one. Who was this man who was in bed, and who had done, or might have done, all these things? Patrick, presumably. But why should Patrick have pretended to be him? How could Patrick have pretended to be him, when he didn’t know him. And, how could Patrick have tied him up and murdered him when he was in Turkey and he himself was in Greece?

There was an earlier unplayed message from Georgie.

‘Oliver,’ said the voice, this time not in a scream but in a desperate whisper, ‘will you please answer your phone! I’m locked in the bathroom! He’s hammering on the door! I thought it was you! He nearly raped me! I don’t know how to phone the police in this country! Oliver! I am all on my own! In the bathroom!’

And then, again, silence.

So, she was trapped in a bathroom. By a potential rapist. Somewhere in Turkey. Phone the police, obviously. Phone which police, where? Which part of Turkey had she said she was going to be in? Or – yes- the British embassy! Look up Istanbul. No, Istanbul wasn’t the capital of Turkey… What was the capital of Turkey? He’d forgotten the capital of Turkey!

As he gazed hopelessly at the phone he saw that there was an even earlier message from Georgie still waiting to be played. He pressed the button, bracing himself for the next horror. This time her voice was entirely different, though. Hurried and incoherent, but very pleased with itself.

‘Hi!’ she said. ‘It’s me! I suddenly saw there was a flight to Thessaloniki…!’

Skios by Michael Frayn/Kindle edition/Paperback