“It’s beautiful. I’m not one for flowers at all, but–” I hesitate, afraid of looking stupid, but he just looks at me enquiringly, and I know suddenly that he’ll never laugh at me. With me, yes, but never at me. And something in me relaxes instantly and unfurls a little bit. “I get the impression that it’s about more than flowers,” I say slowly. “It feels full of emotion somehow.”

He grins. “Probably is. That’s Ivo Ashworth-Robinson’s work. He’s slightly temperamental, so I’m sure it’s absolutely chock full of very loud feelings.”

“You know him?”

He shrugs. “Vaguely. He’s one of Max’s best mates. They were apprentices at a newspaper together and then worked together a lot. Ivo was a war photographer but he’s a full-time artist now.”

I turn back to the picture, admiring the colours. “It makes me feel happy,” I finally say judiciously, and when I look at him, he has a look of almost astonishment on his face. “You alright?” I ask. “Did you buy that picture you were looking at? Do you need a sit down now? We can catch the moths that flew out of your wallet later on. You’re my priority at the moment,” I finish solemnly.

He frowns at me but it doesn’t work and he bursts into laughter. It’s loud and almost shocking in the cool, quiet room.

“Cheeky twat,” he says almost affectionately. “I’ve bought it. It’ll look amazing in my bedroom.”

“Better than your etchings,” I say slyly.

“Come on,” he says, ushering me out of the gallery. “We’ll go and grab some lunch. There’s a lovely fish restaurant here that has a nice view of the water.”

“Have you eaten there before?” I ask reluctantly.

He nods, looking suddenly awkward. “Patrick and I used to eat at the restaurant.” He stops suddenly. “Shit, I forgot to give the sales assistant my mobile number for the delivery driver. I won’t be a minute.”

He vanishes back into the gallery, and I wander over a little bridge, stopping in the middle to stare down at the water running busily over the stones. It glitters in the sun, nearly hurting my eyes. I lean my elbows on the balustrade and sigh. I hate the fact that he’s been here before with Patrick. It feels like everything we do has his perfect shadow falling over it.

But what worries me most is that I shouldn’t feel like this. Zeb hired me to do a job, and throughout my time with the agency, I’ve prided myself on being able to care about the clients but still be able to leave them behind once the job is done. I know I won’t be able to do that with him.