I can’t take this in. ‘But that can’t be easy, Nico,’ I say, letting out a huge breath.

‘No. It’s all above board, but it has cost me dearly. Obviously, I can’t share the real reason with him, so the story is that I’m trying to bring my father’s paintings together as one collection. And I’ve almost succeeded in doing that, but they’re locked away in a storeroom and will remain there forever. It would have destroyed my mother had she discovered the level to which he had sunk; she was a strong and proud woman who put up with so much in her lifetime. For her sake, I refuse to let him bring shame on our family from his grave.’

I’m horrified. I can tell that this has been an almost unbearable burden for Nico to shoulder. It must be hell living with a secret like this. And he values my friendship enough to trust me with it now.

‘Does Ceana know?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. I’ve told no one except you. Until I successfully purchase that last piece, I honestly live in daily fear. My agent has been in negotiation with the current owner, who is – unfortunately – in declining health at the moment. There’s a likelihood it could turn into a lengthy process. Every single piece of my work that I sell increases the risk of discovery. That last elusive canvas of mine with a José signature is probably displayed on a wall in a home. If some art expert happens to see it before it’s in my hands again, they could make the link. It’s ironic that the more successful I become, the bigger the worry, but people here are dependent on me and I can’t let them down.’

‘But if you’ve bought all the other paintings back, doesn’t that prove you are trying to right a wrong?’ I interrupt.

‘Internationally, art fraud and forgery are taken very seriously, as one would naturally expect. The police wouldn’t simply take my word for how many of my paintings my father sold under his name. Even his early works, which sold for next to nothing, would come into question. Artists often paint in more than one style and, at first, his canvases didn’t sell for much because he hadn’t tapped into his real strength. I would argue that he never really allowed himself to do so.’

He looks tired and dejected. Almost beaten.

‘His style was very different, though. An art expert would be able to distinguish your work from his, surely?’ I can’t believe a father would inflict this on his own son. A wrong has been done, but it isn’t Nico’s fault.