‘I’m not asking you to give her a kicking.’ Charlie tried not to sound as if she was begging. ‘What about threatening her with a court case unless she takes the whole lot down and destroys it? Even if there’s no legal action we can take, she won’t know that. She’s a picture-framer, not a lawyer. She’ll be scared—anyone would.’

Lund shrugged, wiping his face with his napkin. His entire face, not only the area around his mouth. Now his cheek as well as his chin was smeared with orange grease. ‘And when she consults a lawyer and he tells her it’s a joke? That’s my reputation stuffed, isn’t it? Either I’m unethical or completely tonto. And if your woman’s got anything about her, she’ll take it to the press. I would.’

‘Please. There must be something you can do. I can’t bear it, knowing it’s there. I keep seeing it in my mind, wondering who’s seeing it in real life, reading all those things about me. Can’t you understand that? Are you telling me that’s not a violation of my privacy?’

‘The law doesn’t care how you feel,’ said Lund. ‘Legally, you’re trying to violate her privacy. I’d go to the papers if I were her, for sure. “I was harassed by psychopath’s ex-girlfriend, says picture-framer.” More headlines for her to stick up in her gallery, more infamy for you.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘What?’ Lund frowned. ‘Oh, come on. Let’s not pussyfoot around.’ He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling.

Charlie dug her fingernails into her palms as hard as she could. Focus on the physical pain. ‘I didn’t know he was a psychopath. I was another of that evil fucker’s victims.’ Seeing Lund’s expression, she said, ‘Not in that way. I just mean . . . it wasn’t my fault. The inquiry found in my favour, even if the shitty tabloids didn’t.’

‘I know all that,’ said Lund, yawning openly. ‘I’m telling you what the press would say, if this woman was canny enough to approach them.’

Charlie stood up, pushing back her chair. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘Invoice me for the hour you’ve spent ripping my self-esteem to shreds. You can pay for your own lunch.’

He waved away the suggestion. ‘They know me well enough here,’ he said. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? ‘Don’t take it out on me—I’m trying to help you. The best thing you can do is forget the whole thing: the psychopath, the gutter hacks, the woman—all of it. Why let it bother you? You should put it behind you.’

Charlie couldn’t breathe. He’d refused all her appeals for real help, and now he was trying to fob her off with hackneyed snippets of homespun wisdom. She wanted to kill him.