She was a striking young woman – if she were only a few years younger she would be taken for an art student – and her spiked hair was dyed as whit... as her fishnet stockings. She wore midnight-dark lipstick and eyeliner and a leather bustier and mini-skirt. A tattoo of black roses spread from where the word “catharsis” was inscribed on her breastbone in an antique text. “It seems so long ago” began Kristina in a voice that was incongruously aristocratic “but it came to me just before Easter,. No, closer to the guillotine.’ I stopped in my tracks, looked at Maggie and mouthed the word ‘Guillotine?’ She shook her head and held the door opened for me. Stepping through, I felt almost like I was stepping back through time. The room, despite a few more modern touches like electric lights, looked to have been brought forward from the early eighteenth century. Everything from the furniture to the wallpaper looked ancient. Clean, yes. Polished till it shined, yes. But all of it was clearly. More

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