Did a paper cut-out count as art? Charlie couldn’t ask the tanned middle-aged woman in the patchwork jacket who sat behind a battered wooden table at the back of the gallery. She was on the phone, trying to make an appointment to get her legs waxed, sounding upbeat at first, saying, ‘I completely understand, ’ and then increasingly impatient when it started to become apparent that even next week was fully booked. Charlie wondered if she was the older woman Ruth Bussey had met at the art fair: Jan something or other. TiqTaq’s owner.

If she was, presumably all work exhibited was approved by her. She evidently saw some merit in the framed lines of paper dolls holding hands that were up on the walls. Each had been cut out of different coloured paper and was a different size; each carried a price tag of between two and five thousand pounds. I could have done these, Charlie thought. A few big sheets of paper, a pair of scissors . . . What a scam.

‘Can I help you?’ The woman was off the phone. ‘Shall I talk you through the exhibition? I’m Jan Garner. TiqTaq’s my gallery.’

So Ruth Bussey had told the truth about that, at least. In fact, Charlie had believed every word of her story. Even feeling the way she did about Ruth at the moment, she could tell when a person stopped lying; the relief was unmistakeable. Simon disagreed; they’d argued about it last night, at some ungodly hour. ‘Anyone who’s lied once is untrustworthy always,’ he’d said.

‘Clever liars admit to old lies to distract you, so that you don’t spot the ones they’re in the middle of.’

Charlie shook Jan Garner’s extended hand. ‘Charlie Zailer,’ she said. ‘I’m hoping you can help me with something else, actually—nothing to do with the exhibition.’

‘Happy to if I can,’ said Jan. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’

Could this work as a matey chat? Charlie wondered. Useful if it could, since she had no official reason to be here. ‘Yes. Thanks.’

‘Earl Grey, Lady Grey, lapsang, green with mint, green with jasmine, lemon and ginger . . .’

‘Earl Grey’d be lovely,’ said Charlie. The long list of fancy teas made her think of Olivia, who drank things like fennel and nettle, and would no doubt drink weeds stewed in dirty bathwater if it had the right label on it. Charlie pushed the thought of her sister away.