Two weeks later, she found an interview in The Guardian. She knew the story. Marion Grafton had been raped six years ago while at university. She worked up the courage to report it two years ago, and the case came before the court. The jury found the defendant not guilty.

How could he be a rapist? The man was known to Marion, and she'd gone willingly with him to his room. They'd both had a bit to drink. She'd allowed him to kiss her. Marion changed her mind, she explained in the court. She decided she didn't want to go through with having sex with this man when he pushed up her skirt and yanked her pants down.

Marion said 'no'. The defendant claimed he hadn't heard her, and she didn't struggle. Marion went to the police at the time. They told her there was little or no evidence to prove her case. Her body displayed no signs of struggle and her fingernails held no trace of skin scraped from the man as she tried to fight him off.

Marion, the defendant's lawyer said, had a history of sleeping around. All kinds of men came forward, willing bearers of tales. Including her current boyfriend, who wasn't the defendant.

Sexual promiscuity, a woman who got drunk and then followed a guy back to his room. As the man's solicitor later said in court, Marion felt so guilty about cheating on her boyfriend, she cried rape.

And the jury believed him.

Marion waved anonymity, as she wanted to make a point. "I wasn't the one on trial. It's not up to me to prove my innocence," she told the reporter. "But that's what happened. At any point during that experience, the man could have said 'No, I don't want this,' and walked away. The difference is I couldn't. Our legal system needs to change. Until it does, what happened to me will keep happening to other women. And men will think it is okay to behave this way."

She talked about what happened afterwards. She'd had a breakdown after the rape. The court case brought it all back. She found relationships difficult and wondered if she'd ever manage intimacy with another man again.

Lillian went to the extent of writing Marion a letter. She poured out everything that happened onto page after page. Marion's experience echoed hers almost exactly, the difference being that Lillian had been a virgin. Still, who'd believe her? She took Marlowe to her bedroom and shared drugs with him. Wouldn't that get her into trouble anyway, the drugs thing? She let him get on top of her and she hadn't fought him. Afterwards, she sat beside him wondering if there were blood marks on her cream carpet.

The letter didn't get posted. Lillian burned it in the end, trying to make the gesture symbolic. She stood in the garden late one night, hidden from the windows. "Goodbye, Marlowe!" she whispered as the flames licked the paper and its words, turning them to black ash.

But it didn't end up that easy to forget. Another few weeks passed, and Lillian realised what her body was trying to tell her through exhaustion, breast pain and nausea. The fucking creep hadn't bothered with a condom. She bought a pregnancy test, its result compounding the nausea.

What now?

Dee was right. Lillian was so spoiled, Andrew and Lucia let her away with anything. She couldn't bring herself to tell her mother the exact details. Lucia's friendship with Marlowe's mother was a close one and the story would rip that apart. She harboured secret fears too, that Lucia would say, "Are you sure, Lillian? If you'd had a bit to drink and smoke, do you remember it as it really was?"

It would break her.

She told her mum she was pregnant. The revelation prompted so much distress and sobbing, her mother didn't risk upsetting her any further by asking about the father. She promised to help though. They wouldn't tell Lillian's dad, she explained, as he held old-fashioned views about pregnancy outside of marriage. But it would be sorted and then Lillian would be able to get on with her life.

Did she want to travel? Lucia had friends all over the world, thanks to air hostessing. Lillian could take time out between school and university.

Lillian nodded fervently. She longed for as much distance as possible from Marlowe. And she wanted no part of him. A termination was the only option for her. The experience was unpleasant, but the relief when it was done overwhelming.

The new Lillian practised confidence, painting a new persona over herself like a coat of varnish. She focused on friendships. She said outrageous things. Art became a focus, and she built up a portfolio, dreamt of a life outside England where she would be brand new.

And the rape? That part of the artist's history she locked inside herself.