He smiled, his thin lips stretching over unnaturally veneered teeth, and his shark eyes narrowed. Petra realised, probably a bit too late, that she should dial down the hostility – not because he didn’t deserve it, but to protect herself. But still, her gut told her that he wasn’t a threat – physically at least. If anything, under the showy swagger and the stage make-up, he seemed fragile, a shell. It was his words and his games she’d need to be careful of. ‘Alright – let’s cut to it, then. Vincent’s planning to do something stupid.’

‘What?’

‘You know about Beccie. He told you his daughter died. But he didn’t tell you how.’

‘It was you watching us in the pub the other night, wasn’t it? You were listening to every word we said.’

He shrugged again.

‘So you’ll know he told me that Beccie was sick.’

‘Correct. And that she needed a kidney transplant, but that it didn’t work out. Do you want to know why?’

‘Tell me.’

‘He and Beccie were on the low-budget level of their medical insurance, and the procedure was not considered essential.’

‘But it would have saved her life.’

‘MyHealth disagreed. They calculated there was a sixty per cent chance she would die anyway. I’ve looked into it, and the actuary’s risk assessments in similar cases become more favourable the higher your MyHealth membership tier.’

‘In other words, the more you pay, the more essential your operation is seen to be.’

Ellis nodded.

‘Jesus,’ Petra sighed. ‘But why are you telling me this? What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Wait,’ he said, putting up his palms with a graceful, fluid flourish. ‘There’s more.’

Petra waited.

‘He’s currently doing odd jobs for the man who let his sister die. How tragic is that?’

‘Who? What do you mean?’

‘Curtis Worthing, the man who’s buying his family’s studio, is the outgoing CEO of MyHealth. The studio’s changing hands from one family business to another – only there’s a slight difference in, shall we say, capacity.’

‘Oh.’ A thousand questions jostled through her mind – but they were questions she had to ask Vincent himself. First of all, Why the hell would you do that to yourself? ‘Why are you telling me this? What has it got to do with you?’ she asked again.

‘I know that you and Vincent are being targeted by Olivia… I can’t pretend that warning you is a pure, selfless act of public service, but hey…’

‘Olivia Jouval? Of Metamuse? What do you mean, “targeted”? We’re just attending her shows.’

‘Did you ever wonder how you and Vincent came by those tickets? Did you ever wonder why you met Vincent when you did?’

It was an absurd question, but he was looking into her face, apparently waiting for an answer. ‘Luck? Coincidence.’