‘Fuck.’ The pieces are slotting into place. ‘I told her I was Sabine’s really good friend.’ A flash of the CCTV outside the gallery. She would have seen Noah and me together. It would have raised a bright red flag when he said he didn’t know who I was. She would have wondered who was lying: him or me? And why?

‘But how would the guy in the picture have found me?’ I ask. ‘He didn’t even have my name?’ The subtext here is: did you tell her?

‘He’s always hanging around the gallery,’ he says, reaching for my hand. I let him take it. ‘But look, don’t worry. She’ll get bored soon enough. She’s just possessive and jealous…’

And I might think that too if I hadn’t seen what was on that video.

He’s looking down at our hands and I’m looking at him. I sense he has no idea what Agnès has been really doing. And now that I have to tell him, I’m not sure how to start.

I take a deep breath. ‘Noah, there’s more to this than just jealousy.’

He tilts his head just slightly. ‘Like what?’

‘I found something.’ I let go of his hand and reach for my phone, scrolling through my photographs to the still frame of that financial document on the screen. ‘Here,’ I say, handing it to him.

He frowns down at it. ‘What is this?’

‘That company, Hintos Holdings, belongs to Philip Crawford-White.’

‘So?’ Noah says. ‘Agnès did loads of deals for loads of people. They all use company names. And Philip is a friend, she sells paintings for him sometimes to private collectors.’

‘What kind of paintings?’ I ask, slowly, thinking of the Klimt.

He shrugs. ‘I don’t really know. These people have extensive collections. It’s a whole other world.’

‘Did Agnès ever mention Genovexa or Requiem?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ He pauses. ‘Why, what do you think is going on here, Harper?’ He fully enunciates my name.

‘I’m not sure,’ I say, taking back my phone. ‘But there was this too.’ I pull up the video of Sabine and the Klimt.

I hand him my phone and watch his face as it plays.

His eyes get big. His mouth opens just a little bit. He frowns at the screen. And then Sabine says ‘Je sais ce que tu fais, Agnès’, and blows a kiss at the camera.

His jaw clenches.

His face is pale when he looks at me. ‘What the hell is this?’ his voice comes out as an almost whisper. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘It was on one of Sabine’s drives. I got it for a story I was working on.’ I keep it intentionally vague.

He’s looking from wall to wall, as though trying to get his head around it.