‘I have never seen him paint in my life.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Jenny sipped her drink.

‘Are you sure he did these?’

Jenny nodded. ‘Pretty sure.’

Orla looked at each of the printouts in turn, gripping them too tight, creasing the paper in the corners. Eventually she put them down and lifted her drink, took a large swig. ‘You’re wrong.’

Jenny reached out and touched the corner of the nearest printout. ‘Why is it so hard for you to believe your husband painted these?’

Orla’s eyes hardened, her body stiff. ‘Have you ever spoken to him?’150

‘No.’

‘If you had, you’d know he’s not that kind of man.’

Jenny held her hands out. ‘I don’t know what else to tell you.’

Orla looked at the flow of people along the pavement. The vans and cars, trucks and buses, streaming in and out of town.

‘I want you to keep following him,’ she said eventually.

‘I don’t think there’s much point.’

‘It’s only been two days,’ Orla said. ‘Talk to the barmaid again. Or the other people in this studio, maybe he’s fucking one of them.’

Jenny collected up the printouts as Orla downed the remains of her wine. Her teeth and lips were stained red as she stroked her fringe away from her eyes.

‘I know there’s something else going on,’ she said. ‘This isn’t it.’

Jenny wondered if all her clients would be like this. Then she wondered at herself for thinking she would have future clients. Then she pictured herself in a mac and hat, passing unmarked envelopes to clients in dark alleyways and dingy bars.

‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘It’s your money.’

‘That’s right,’ Orla said. ‘It’s my money.’

151

29

HANNAH

East Fettes Avenue was a nice part of town, north of Stockbridge and New Town, wide road, a couple of big churches nearby, Broughton High School across the road and Inverleith Park round the corner. The terraced houses that Hannah parked the hearse outside were expensive for a lecturer’s salary, so his wife had to do something that earned proper money.

She and Dorothy had taken the pictures of Mel to Thomas, who said he would send someone to speak to Peter Longhorn. Hannah asked to tag along but Thomas said that was ridiculous. So she’d dropped Dorothy off, phoned uni payroll pretending to be from HMRC, and got Peter’s address from a nervous lackey.

And here she was. The hearse was noticeable but she didn’t care. About half an hour after she arrived, a police car turned up. Two men got out, one plainclothes the other in uniform, and were invited inside by the pretty wife with the baby cradled in her arm.