Chantal had returned to the entrance desk. She looked up at Laure. ‘Quelle scène.’ She had the half-fascinated, half-appalled expression on her face that Laure had seen before. ‘Nic reckons she was a bit mad.’

‘Maybe.’ Laure placed a foot on the first stair. ‘Back to normal upstairs?’

‘They all wanted to know who was killing whom and why.’ Chantal’s smile revealed very even teeth. ‘It’s made the visit for them. They’ll tell everybody about it and we’ll have double the numbers tomorrow.’ She gestured to the revolving stand with the postcards. ‘We never know what happens in the end.’

‘No,’ said Laure. ‘But that’s the point.’

‘Dommage.’ Chantal stuck her head on one side. ‘You all right?’

Chantal’s purple hair and piercings did an excellent job of disguising her motherly nature and she was hoping Laure would admit that she wasn’t because it would give her permission to fuss over her boss.

‘You’re a treasure, Chantal, but I’m fine.’

‘People…’ She fiddled with one of her several ear studs. ‘They think they can sound off anywhere.’

‘No, they think they can sound off in here. And that’s fine. Absolutely fine.’

Laure went upstairs to check over the rooms. Rooms 3 and 4 were crowded with visitors which always added an air of excitement. A large group of Japanese tourists wearing orange baseball hats were being shepherded through Rooms 6 and 7. Laure stepped aside to let them pass. Most of them ignored her and surged through the doorways, blind to anything but their determination to reach the end.

Room 5 was empty and the two videos on screens at either end of the room rolled on a continual loop. The first was of a walled garden. The first shots were of it under snow, with a frozen gallery of trees and bushes flanking a central lawn. The following shots were taken in spring and the starkness had been replaced by blossom and foliage. The summer brought frilled peonies and brazen dahlias in oranges and crimsons. The autumn shots were of berries and the laden apple trees at the far end of the garden.

The final view was of a garden that was no longer a garden. Instead of a flowerbed blazing with autumn colour and windfall apples servicing punch-drunk wasps, four houses had grown within the walls. Unimaginative creations with plate-glass windows of the variety beloved by out-for-a-quick-profit property developers. These were houses not constructed for beauty or pleasure but to make money. The label underneath this video read: ‘My elder brother promised my parents never to sell the garden. Six months after their death, he did so for a large sum of money. I will never forgive him for destroying this piece of paradise.’

A couple of years ago, Laure gave a lecture to trainee curators, with an age range from early twenties to early forties, during which she described the second video in Room 5.