‘I’ve changed my my mind,’ said Mary. ‘I will show you my work. I want you to see it. There’s one condition, though. We agree now that nothing I’m going to show you is for sale. Even if you see a picture you think would be perfect for—’

‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ Charlie told her. ‘I haven’t got the money to buy original art. How much do you normally sell your paintings for? Does it vary depending on size, or . . .?’

‘I don’t.’ Mary’s face turned blank. As if she’d been expecting trouble and now it had arrived. ‘I never sell my work. Ever.’

‘But . . . so . . .?’

‘You mean why. That’s what you want to ask me: why? If that’s what you want to ask, ask.’

‘I was actually thinking more . . . are all your pictures here, then? In this house?’

There was a long pause before Mary said, ‘Pretty much.’

‘Wow. How long have you been painting?’

‘I started in 2000.’

‘Professionally, you mean? What about as a child?’

‘No,’ said Mary. ‘I never painted or drew as a child. Apart from when I had to, at school.’

Of course not professionally; painters who sold none of their work couldn’t be called professional. I should be asking different questions, thought Charlie. I should be asking about Aidan Seed and Ruth Bussey, and then I should be going to work. Why aren’t I?

She knew the answer, but it was a few seconds before she was willing to admit it to herself: because now she too was . . . scared would have been putting it too strongly, but something about 15 Megson Crescent and its occupant unsettled her. Perhaps it was nothing more than a bad atmosphere in the house, the result of years of neglect. Whatever it was, Charlie couldn’t allow herself to give in to the urge to get the hell out as quickly as possible.

‘I said you could see my paintings, not grill me about them,’ said Mary. ‘If you’re not careful I’ll change my mind. I don’t normally show my work to anybody.’

‘Why me, then?’

Mary nodded. ‘It’s a good question.’ She smiled, as if she knew the answer but wasn’t about to divulge it. ‘Come on. Most of the pictures are upstairs.’