For one heart-stopping moment I thought that Vlad was going to call my bluff. A derisive smile slowly spread across his face and he took a step towards me. If his icy stare was bad, his smile was worse, like the grin on the face of a wolf that has spotted a limping lamb. But at that moment, somewhere out on East Street, a siren wailed. I could tell it was only an ambulance, but it was enough to spook the Brothers Grim. They exchanged glances, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and beat a retreat down the stairs, Vlad making vile and hateful mutterings on the way.

At the foot of the stairs, he turned, glared up at me, jabbed at me with one finger, then drew it emphatically across his throat. The message couldn’t have been clearer.

I held up my phone, pointing in his direction. I might not have a signal to make a call, but I could still take a photograph. The camera flashed. Vlad’s face turned white with rage as he realised what I’d done. For a moment I thought he would rush the stairs and wrench the phone from my hand. But then the siren sounded closer. He muttered, and banged his way out of the door after his companion.

I flew down the stairs behind him, slammed the front door shut and thrust the bolts home. My heart was hammering and I felt sick. I took a deep breath and ran back up to the living room, where Nick had slumped into a chair. He looked ashen.

I knew he kept bottles of booze in a cupboard. I hunted around, found brandy and a glass, poured, and placed it on the table next to him. He was breathless and I gave him a moment to recover himself, picking up the table that had been thrown over and collecting the pieces of a shattered ornament.

‘Oh, Juno … Juno …’ he gasped at last, shaking his head. ‘You should not have done that.’

‘I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t.’ I knelt beside his chair. He reached out and gripped my hand weakly. His touch was clammy, his breathing ragged.

‘I’m going to call a doctor,’ I told him.

‘No, no,’ he protested feebly. ‘I have pills …’ He pointed to the mantelpiece. Searching amongst the clutter of ornaments and old envelopes on the shelf, I found a small brown bottle and shook two tiny tablets out into his trembling palm. He put them under his tongue and after a minute he seemed to be breathing easier.

‘Who are those men?’ I asked him. ‘What do they want?’

He slid a shifty glance at me. ‘They are just … business associates.’

‘Business associates?’ I repeated scornfully. ‘I’m going to call the police.’

‘No! No police,’ he gripped my hand again. ‘You promise … Juno … call police … things get very bad.’