Charlie didn’t want to sit. Ruth’s intensity was making her edgy, as was the thought that at some point she must ask again about the article. She sensed Ruth would tell her if pushed, and she dreaded the answer. The more she worried at it in her mind, the less likely it seemed that there was an entirely innocent, harmless reason why Ruth had had that article in her coat pocket. ‘Tell me about losing your job at the Spilling Gallery.’

‘Didn’t Mary tell you?’

‘Not really. She implied it was her fault.’

Ruth shook her head. ‘It was mine,’ she said unhappily. ‘If I’d . . .’ She stopped. ‘Do you ever wish you’d done almost everything differently?’

To someone else, Charlie might have said yes without missing a beat, but Ruth already had too much information about her. ‘Tell me the story,’ she said brusquely. ‘If you want my help, you’d better tell me everything you kept to yourself on Friday.’

Ruth lowered her eyes. For a second, Charlie thought she was going to refuse. Then she said, ‘Mary came in one day. To the gallery. I didn’t know her name at the time, and I didn’t find out that day. I didn’t find out until much later.’

‘Okay.’ It was a start.

‘She had a painting with her, one of her own, which she wanted Saul, my boss, to frame. It had ‘Abberton’ written on the back of it in capital letters. There was a . . . a sort of person in it, the shape of a person with no face. It was impossible to tell the sex. It was just an outline: a head, two arms . . .’

‘I’m familiar with the human anatomy,’ said Charlie. Obviously no penis protruding from the canvas, then, she thought.

‘I asked who Abberton was, and Mary refused to tell me. She . . . she got angry. I wanted to buy the picture and she didn’t want to sell it, and when I asked . . .’ Ruth put her mug down and covered her mouth with her hands. After a few seconds she said, ‘Sorry. When I asked if I could maybe buy another of her pictures, a different one, she said no.’

‘When was this?’ asked Charlie.

‘June last year. She attacked me, physically. I stormed out of the gallery and never went back. Then I changed jobs and—’

‘Hang on. You’ve seen Mary since, right? You’ve been to her house. Have you asked her again who Abberton is?’ What was the connection between the name Abberton and the eight other names Aidan had given Ruth? Nine people known to Aidan and Mary?

‘No.’ Ruth was trembling.

‘Why not? You’re on better terms now, presumably. She told me she was trying to persuade you to model for her.’