Ruth nodded. She pulled herself together and carried on with her story. “It must have been the murderer who slammed the door, not Jackie. Anyway, I panicked. I just ran. I didn’t even close the door behind me. All I could think of was to get out of there as fast as I could. I knew that the police would think I’d done it. I . . . I had such a good motive, you see.”

“So you ran away? You went to the gallery?” Lindsay asked.

Ruth nodded. “I took the lift to the underground garage. I stopped at the first phone box I came to and I called one of my clients. I pretended I had been interrupted and asked him to call me back in ten minutes. Then I drove to the gallery and got there in time to take the call.” As she reached the end of her tale, Ruth collapsed in a heap against Lindsay, as if telling the story had drained her of all her strength and energy.

Lindsay desperately wanted to ask Ruth more, but before she could, the door burst open and Antonis stalked in. “Come on, Ruth,” he barked. “Let’s get out of here.” He pulled her to her feet and almost carried her out of the room. “You lying bitch,” he called back at Lindsay. “You will hear from my lawyers about this.”

Alex carried on leaning against the wall, shaking his head in silent amusement. “You sure know how to lay on a good cabaret,” he said.

“Shut up,” said Sophie. “You’ve made her look a complete fool. So just shut up.”

Alex looked hurt. “Wait a minute,” he protested. “I didn’t ask to come here. She brought me here. I was doing her a favor.”

“Some favor,” Lindsay sighed, getting to her feet. “I thought you said you’d know the woman again, anywhere?”

He nodded vigorously. “It was her. Why would I make it up? Christ, all I had to do was say I didn’t see the woman here,” he whined. “It was her, I’m telling you. I was nearly shitting myself when I saw her. It’s not my fault if you couldn’t nail her.”

Lindsay walked over to the drinks table, feeling as if she were wading through treacle. She’d never felt worse in her entire life. “Fuck off, Alex,” she stated blankly. “Just fuck off.”

He shrugged away from the wall. “Please yourself,” he muttered. “Where’s my money?”

“Give him his bloody money, would you, Sophie? It’s in my briefcase under the bed in the spare room.”

“I’ll be right back,” Sophie said, indicating to Alex that he should follow her. They left, and Lindsay slumped into an armchair.