‘And I tell you something else.’ Lana looked at me again, her grey eyes full of sadness now. ‘She loved your husband very much. Only one other man she loved that much before. I think maybe she give her life for James Miller.’

I felt a terror that I hadn’t since the night Katya died. A small pain, a nut of something rattled in my gut. I remembered the horrified guests whispering as she lay dying. She fell on purpose.

‘Died for him? Were they …’ I cleared my throat. ‘Did they see a lot of each other?’

‘You mean was she his mistress?’ She lit a cigarette. ‘No, but she wanted to be.’ She exhaled the smoke in a perfect plume. ‘She was confused, though.’

‘Confused?’

Lana stood with a swish of her kimono and a trail of smoke. ‘Follow me.’

I did as I was told, following her down the dark little hall. She opened a door: Katya’s bedroom. The bed was neatly made, stuffed toys and a china doll on a heart-shaped pillow, a table full of glitter and gloss, lights round the mirror like Judy Garland’s dressing room. On the shelf by the window were framed photos, the biggest of a face I recognised immediately from last night. Charlie Higham, lying on a bed, propped on one elbow, smoking, naked to the waist, staring affectedly into the lens, big brown eyes narrowed slightly against the smoke, looking very much like he was making love to the camera.

‘You know this boy?’ Lana picked up the photo. ‘This boy, he is trouble. This is boy she was in love with. I say, be careful, but he breaks her heart. Then your husband, he get involved.’

‘Get involved with what, though?’ I was more than confused myself.

Lana slammed the photo down so the glass rattled; pushed me out of the door again and shut it firmly behind us, stalking down the hall back to the kitchen.

‘I warned her.’

‘About what?’ I followed in her wake.

‘When your husband took her to that man, I knew this would – how do you say here? – be in tears?’

‘End in tears?’

‘Yes.’

‘What man?’

‘The big man.’ Again she spoke in Russian.

I stared at her, lost.

She relented. ‘Always these guys. You cannot trust them. Ever.’

‘Sorry, what guys?’ My heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode. ‘Why did James take her to a – a “big man”?’

‘Why do you think? Money,’ she said grimly. ‘It always comes to money, no?’

‘And who was this man? Was he called Hadi Kattan?’

‘She would not tell me exactly who. But I know he is – very powerful.’ She ground her cigarette out so hard that it was pulverised. ‘She goes to him and asks for money – and one month later, she is dead.’