‘Quite right. Actually, I am staying in an hotel in Bargemon, but apparently the house is now mine.’

‘How “apparently”?’

‘Well, I have a letter from my brother, and he also mailed me the key.’

‘When was this, Mr Colcott? Some time ago, I assume, for your brother has been absent, shall I say, for some many months, as you no doubt are aware?’

‘I am aware. I got his letter and the key at the beginning of April.’

‘Ah yes. That is possible.’

‘It is fact. His wife sent it to me on his instructions.’ ‘And what has that to do with me?’

‘I understand that you are ready now to collect the paintings which James has stored in the studio.’

‘That is so. I want to get them to the framers. They take so long.’

‘I wondered if you could help me? I am here trying to find out what might have happened to James. Where he might have gone. His family are desperately worried, as you will understand.’

‘How could I possibly help?’

‘Brent Millar suggested that you might.’

There was a singing silence on the line for a moment. Somewhere in Cannes a brow might have beaded with fine sweat or merely wrinkled in bewilderment.

‘Brent Millar said that?’

It was an absolute lie, but before he could check that out with Millar, who was presently in Connecticut, I hoped to get his agreement to help. I decided to play a good card.

‘He said that you had been very close to James, a marvellous and generous friend, especially in your interest in his work. And the very fine sum of money you paid out for these canvases at a difficult time for him.’

‘And you are here to find out what happened? For his family?’

‘I am his family, as well. But that is so.’

The fact that the family had long since been ‘gathered’, and that only I remained, I ignored. He need not know that part. Obviously Aronovich was not a fool. But an apparent helpless appeal for assistance from a worried foreigner might perhaps sway him.

‘It is difficult for me, Mr Colcott. I am extremely busy, you know. I have no time for meetings at the moment. I know nothing about your brother, only that he has gone away somewhere. It is common knowledge.’

‘Common knowledge to whom?’

Caught him off guard there. For a second his boat rocked gently. He steadied it adroitly.

‘Perhaps, “common” is an unhappy choice. French is not my mother tongue. His wife knows of course, and as you will be aware, so does Mr Millar.’

‘And you?’