Right answer. I smiled, and he moved on, frowning now at the fourth. Here Grace was clearly in her early twenties. Her hair was tied back from her face, and there was a bright, inquisitive look on her face, or on as much of the face as I’d allowed the viewer to see. This was the ‘underwater’ image, the one in which her features blurred across the canvas as they surrendered to the current. Rohan stared at it, mesmerized, then turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘No words. Beautiful. Haunting.’

‘That was two words,’ I said biting my lips.

As he drank in the fifth, his hand moved to his throat. This was the one in which an older Grace was suffocating under the canvas, trying to claw her way out. Even I could barely look at it. When painting it, I’d had to concentrate on little areas at a time or I’d find myself struggling to breathe.

‘Very disturbing.’

Finally, he bent and examined the sixth picture, the one with the melting face. He studied the texture of the paint. ‘Abs?’ he said. ‘Did you mix blood in with this?’

I closed my eyes. I hadn’t thought anyone would notice, though the ferrous oxide did add a distinctive rusty tone. Rohan didn’t turn around but I could see his jaw clenching.

‘How did you get it?’ His tone was neutral but I could tell from the way he held himself so still that it was taking all his self-control. ‘Did you cut yourself again?’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘Well, not like that.’ I pulled up my sleeve and thrust out my forearm, showing him the old, healed scars, white worms splayed across the pale skin, and just one new slice, still pink and raw. ‘See? Just one. For the art. I promise. It’s mainly paint. Otherwise it wouldn’t last.’

He stared at me intently and I could see him weighing up this new information; wondering if he needed to take it further. Then he nodded slowly, accepting my words at face value; questioning no further although I knew he would be bursting with ‘why’s.’

‘Okay.’ He stood up slowly and moved towards me. ‘Baby, I…’

‘So what do you think? Of the paintings?’

He rubbed at his forehead. Wiped his hand across his eyes. Looked back at them. Exhaled loudly.

‘Jesus, Abs. Francesca’s going to be blown away. They’re… exceptional.’

He stepped closer, and this time I let him. He slid his arms around me and my body flopped against him, drained.

‘You’re a genius,’ he said into my hair. ‘You’re going to be a legend of this century.’ He rocked me for a bit, then pulled away. ‘So – what happens next? I get the feeling death is stalking her. That she’s running away from it.’