“He’s in art and antiques, a buyer for a number of swanky galleries. New York. Paris. Milan. Berlin. That sort of thing. He specializes in eastern and southern European artifacts and paintings. The Balkans, Greece, the ex-Soviet republics. Religious icons, that sort of thing. That’s why he travels such a lot.”

It was a good cover, Zelda thought. “Is that how you met?”

“Yes. Here. In the shop. He wanted to order a book on Bulgarian antiquities. It was out of print, and I said I’d do my best to locate a copy for him. Then . . . well, one thing led to another. He was quite charming, and very attractive. I suppose I was flattered. He asked me out for a drink. Then dinner. Then . . . Look, your English is wonderful, but I think I can hear a trace of an accent in the way you talk. Are you from Eastern Europe or somewhere like that?”

“Somewhere like that,” said Zelda.

“Only I met quite a few of them when I was with Hugh. You know, Serbs, Croatians, Bosnians.”

“I’m from Moldova.”

“Where’s that?”

“Between Ukraine and Romania. A long way from the Balkans. Far enough, anyway. Did you ever meet a man called Petar Tadić?”

“Petar? From Croatia? Yes. We had drinks with him a few times. He wasn’t too bad. Quite gallant, really. Nicer than his brother.”

Zelda felt herself tense up. Petar Tadić had been far from gallant when she had met him. “His brother Goran?”

Faye hesitated. “Yes. I think that was his name. He gave me the creeps.”

“What do you mean?”

Faye shrugged. “You know. He was good-looking enough and all that, but he sort of leered at you. Undressed you with his eyes. Made suggestive comments. He’d lean over and whisper behind his hand in Hugh’s ear, eyeing me all the while. That sort of thing. Hugh didn’t like him, either. I could tell. He just had to do business with him, so he put up with him.”

Zelda nodded. If only that had been all Goran Tadić had done to her: leer and whisper crude comments. “So when Hugh met the man in the Italian restaurant the evening that photograph was taken, you didn’t take part in the discussions?”

“No. I was never involved in any business talks. To be honest, I could hardly imagine anything more boring. Could you? That was one of the things . . .” She let the thought trail off.

“What were you going to say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Please tell me.”

Faye studied her for a moment, then said, “It was one of the bones of contention between us. Hugh’s secrecy. And his business. It seemed there was always something going on, always some more important client, buyer or seller to meet, and I was . . . Well, it was always more important than me.”

“You felt you were relegated to second place?”

“Yes. Or third.”