“Ah yes, Mr. Domnikov. He never actually paid for that painting, you know. I really thought I had him on the hook. Michele’s convinced I’ve lost my touch.”

“At the wedding Peter said he’d seen you. Did you see him?”

“Yes.”

“Where?

“In Rome. At the art fair. I saw him from the corner of my eye. I thought, that man looks a bit like Peter. Then he was gone. It was busy. It’s one of the times you can make real money. Russians, Arabs, the super rich. For them, a few hundred grand on a painting is nothing. Lots of business gets done at these things. Not just art.” David ran a hand through his hair.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Briefly. Later on.” He stood up for a moment and looked out the window. “Andy, I don’t have him here. He’s not hiding in the attic or under the bed. You should probably go, you know, if you can.” He stopped. “I don’t know where he is.”

“What happened?”

“He came to my hotel. We had a drink, a few drinks. Reminisced over old times.”

“I’d like to hear about those old times.”

“Would you, Andy? Would you indeed?”

“Do you know where he’s gone? Why he’s gone? Did he seem troubled?”

“We all have our troubles, Andy. Perhaps I was too busy thinking of my own to notice. Besides, he was always troubled. It was only because everyone was looking at you that it wasn’t so noticeable, when you look back.”

“Do you look back often?”

“I’m allergic to the past. To the past and to kiwi fruit, oddly enough. What about you?”

“Of late.”

“Any thoughts you’d like to share?”

So I told him everything I’d discovered since Peter’s disappearance. I expected him to laugh at me. But when I finished, when I had recounted what Alice had said, and my theory that there were two sets of diamonds, that we could have found the real ones, Mortimer’s diamonds, David said nothing for a while. I watched him very carefully, but he showed no signs of guilt or discovery. When he finally spoke, he sounded older and sadder.

“Imagine that,” he said. “Imagine that, holding the real thing in your hands, Andy, and not knowing it for what it was.”

I went downstairs. The water was to my knees. In the streets it would be to my waist. In the falling dark, all the colors were bleaching. I heard David come down, and suddenly I knew I was playing an old game, threatening to do something dangerous in the hope that someone would stop me.

“Stay. I’m happy to see you. I am. It’s just the timing.” He laughed suddenly, without mirth. “It’s always the same.”

So I went back up and we resumed our positions.

“Why are you holding that picture like that?”