Charlie couldn’t help smiling. ‘We’re talking about people buying pictures, right? Or not buying them? Nothing life-threatening? ’

‘You can laugh, but I could tell you some horror stories. There was a young artist recently whose entire degree show sold to a world-famous collector. Usually if that happens, you’re made—you can write your own ticket—but in this case it didn’t work. There was a huge backlash against the idea that one collector could up the value of an artist’s work just like that. Both the collector and the artist became the target of some of the most vicious word-of-mouth I’ve ever heard. The irony is, the artist’s a talented guy. His work’s great.’

‘Then why the viciousness?’ Charlie asked.

‘Bad timing, that’s all. It had happened too often—the Charles Saatchi effect, we call it. All it takes is for a few artists to build their careers on it and become world-famous, and suddenly everyone’s suspicious and ready to make sure no more slip through the net.’

Charlie downed the rest of her tea and tried to look more sympathetic than she felt. If Charles Saatchi threw a few million in her direction, she wouldn’t care how many people slagged her off afterwards. She’d buy diamond-studded earplugs and go and lie on a beach in the Caribbean where the whining of jealous bastards wouldn’t reach her.

Jan’s eyes were wide and bright as she plucked another sorry tale from her repertoire. ‘I represented an artist once, years ago, who was out-of-this-world fantastic: talented, ambitious, absolutely guaranteed to succeed.’

‘Better than Mary Trelease?’ Charlie couldn’t resist asking.

Jan chewed her lip as she thought about it. ‘Different. No, not better. It’d be hard to say anyone was better than Mary. Mary’s a genius.’

‘And this other artist wasn’t?’

‘No, I think he was—in a very different way from Mary, much more muted. He had his first show with me. He wasn’t expecting much from it and neither was I—these things tend to build slowly if they build at all. I did my best to get publicity, but it’s never easy for a first show. The private view was reasonably well attended, nothing out of the ordinary. Only three of the pictures sold. But somehow, even though the first night had been nothing special, word got around. Quality will out, that’s what I always say. Within three days, all the pictures in the exhibition were sold—every last one, all to people who were eager to buy more as soon as more were available.’