‘There are only the ones you commissioned, as far as I know. Nothing else. I mean, none of the erotic ones.’

He looked at me sharply. ‘Do I follow?’

‘I don’t know. He did a number of paintings, of young men in the nude. I went yesterday to check before your people arrived.’

‘It was kind of you to take the trouble. The things you are concerned about were drawings, actually, not paintings. They were all sold, fortunately, because they kept the household here going. I imagine you know that? He got a good price for his “nude fantasies”. There are plenty of people along this coast who are delighted to pay a good price for things like that. Specifically drawn to order from their own suggestions. That is found to be most attractive.’

‘Or even Brent Millar’s, I gather? He sent little sketches over, ideas?’

‘So I believe. James had a limited imagination in that respect. His Arab clients, and certainly his Japanese clients, had vigorous ideas. Rather cruel, but I suppose they found them stimulating. They paid enough for them.’

‘And you were his dealer?’

‘I prefer the word “banker”. I sold them for him, I have the opportunity in Cannes and Nice, Monte Carlo above all. I took no commission, you understand. The proceeds all went to James. For that unfortunate child … If you’ll excuse me, I will go up and get the list. I know the way.’ He said that with a certain irony, stood aside as a red-haired man came past carrying two bubble-wrapped rectangles.

‘How many, Hubert?’

‘Thirty-three larger ones, and we have twenty smaller, the pictures of the girl, fifty-three altogether. Nearly through.’

Aronovich nodded, smiled at me. ‘He did well, your brother. A lot of work. Not all done at the same time of course, but I bought them all anyway. No one really looks at pictures in hotel bedrooms, do they?’

‘I do. Frequently.’

‘You are an exception,’ he said, and went into the long room. I heard him go up the slate stairs, call out for someone named ‘Nicco’.

They came down together, each carrying canvases.

‘I can offer you a Scotch – no Cristall, I regret – or a beer?’ I said.

Aronovich paused at the threshold, looked about the long room for a moment, smiled. ‘I hardly ever saw this room. It was always what one would call a hostile area.’

‘You mean Florence?’

‘I mean Florence and Sidonie Prideaux. Hostility emanated from them like a vapour. I would be happy to have a beer, thank you. I’ll take these to the truck.’

I got some beer, a couple of odd glasses. Two men came down from the studio with the last of the pictures, said that the place was now clear and where was M’sieur Aronovich?