‘Right. Move the painting to conservation but don’t do a thing to it until I find out if Royal Holloway will let us do the work or not. Giles, I’ll let you know the minute I get the go-ahead.’ Swindon fixes the curators with a hard eye. ‘I want an alternate plan for the exhibition hang in case we have to pull the painting. Make sure I see a copy by the end of the day. The rest of you, get back to what you were doing.’ He starts to turn. ‘I’m sure you all realise this fiasco will have massive repercussions for the Museum’s insurance, not to mention the blow to our credibility and ability to borrow works in the future. So naturally I don’t need to mention that if anyone breathes a word of this outside this room, most specifically but not exclusively, to the media, the perpetrator will be starring in a re-enactment of Ribera’s Martyrdom of Saint Bartholomew. Check the print collection if you’re confused. Is that crystal?’

Swindon stands there, presenting his rigid back to most of the staff. When the murmur of assent reaches a satisfactory volume, he nods once and strides off. The room seems to exhale when he’s gone.

Giles and Wayne bend their heads together, murmuring and pointing, then break apart. Wayne heads toward his men while Giles scans the room. He spots us and starts in our direction, and we meet him halfway.

‘That’s going to be a big job,’ John says.

Giles presses the heels of his hands into his temples, as though trying to stop his head from exploding.

‘Good luck. We’d best let you get on with it.’ I look at John and tip my head toward the door.

Giles still has his hands on his head. ‘I should have retired last year. My blood pressure can’t take this sort of thing anymore.’

‘Your people didn’t cause the damage, Giles, and if your department does a brilliant repair you’ll be the Museum’s hero. Besides, much as I hate seeing paintings hurt, the main thing is the packer who collapsed is okay.’ I smile weakly.

‘Goodness Alex, we should be thanking you for what you did.’ Giles grabs my upper arms as though he’s about to pull me into a hug but settles for a bracing squeeze. He inhales, opens his mouth to say something else, but then just shakes his head.

‘I just got there first. No thanks necessary.’ The last thing I want is anyone at MIMA making a fuss. ‘You should get on and see what you’re going to do with that painting.’ I look across to where Wayne and his crew are carefully manoeuvring the large canvas onto a trolley. ‘Will you do the work yourself?’