We move out into the main area and I look around in an attempt to change the subject. “I didn’t see that the last time I was here,” I say, pointing to an ancient-looking easel set up in the corner of the room. “Has Luke taken up painting?”

“Let’s hope not for the sake of the world of art. We used to chalk on the patio stones as kids, and some of his drawings were the subject of nightmares. My mother always hovered by us with a bucket of water to wash them away before we needed therapy.”

I chuckle and move away.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

I throw him a smile. “I just wanted to look out of the window. Your brother has a different view than me.”

I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and gaze out at a side view of the river.

“Well?” he says, slipping into a seat at the breakfast bar.

“It’s definitely not as good a view as mine.”

“I bet you’re so relieved.”

“I am.” I peer out of the window again and then focus downwards and whistle. “Come and look at this,” I say, gesturing to him.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see if you look. A man is fucking a woman on his balcony on the third floor.”

“Lovely,” he says faintly.

I’m puzzled. “You are not coming to look?”

He waves a hand. “I’ll take a pass.”

“Why?”

He rolls his eyes and turns back to his whisky. “I’m afraid of heights.”

I stare at him and start to laugh. “You’re afraid of heights and your brother has you housesitting one of the penthouse flats. The smaller one,” I add.

He sips his whisky. “Oh, the irony of it all. But alas, even the less imposing penthouse flat has windows.”

“Your loss, I suppose.” I take another look. “Not that you’re missing much. His technique is woeful.”

He chokes on his drink, and I throw him a smile. I wander around the room, touching the book spines and examining their titles.

“Did you come here to apologise or just to have a nosy?” he asks. He doesn’t look bothered, sprawled in his seat and watching me.

I come back towards him. “You can tell a lot about people from their homes, no?”

“I suppose so. What does this place tell you about my brother?”

“He probably died in a tragic hoarding accident in a former life.” I shake my head in disbelief as I look around.

“I’m taking it that you don’t like clutter, Mags.”

I cock my head to one side. I don’t think anyone has ever abbreviated my name. Even Jane calls me Magnus. “My name is actually Magnus.”

“I think Mags suits you better.”

I wrinkle my nose. “How terrible. That worries me.” He grins. “So, what are you doing here apart from housesitting, Laurie Gentry, brother of Lennie and Luke?”