He smiles. ‘Fine. Sabine was jealous, but not in the way you think. I wasn’t sleeping with her.’ He looks down at his drink then takes a sip. He’s trying to figure out how to say whatever he’s about to say. ‘She… developed feelings for me. I told her I couldn’t be with her because it would jeopardise my divorce. It seemed kinder than saying I didn’t feel the same. I guess when she saw me with you, she got angry. I should have been more careful. But that’s why she videoed us and made that threat. She was hurt.’ He throws back the rest of his drink. ‘But fuck me. I’m here, aren’t I? Trying to do the right thing and be honest with you? Stop making it so hard, woman.’

He sits back in his seat and I sit back in mine and we look at each other for a few moments.

‘So what did she say, exactly?’ I ask, breaking the silence. ‘When you ran after her?’

‘Nothing,’ he says, leaning in again. ‘We argued for a while and I tried to walk her to the metro, but she was so mad at me. She just ran off and I went back up to the roof to look for you, but you were already gone.’

‘Well, did you call her?’ I ask. Because I’m here now. I want to know if she sent Agnès Bisset that video or not.

‘Of course. But she won’t answer.’

And then I ask the million dollar question: ‘Do you think she’ll do anything with that footage?’

His eyes meet mine, he gives a small smile and shakes his head. ‘There’s no chance of that. Not when she really thinks about it.’

I squint at him as if to say, ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘There’s only one thing Sabine really wants in this world,’ he continues, ‘and that is to be an artist. It’s a tightknit group here in Paris. If she fucked me over like that, she’d be a pariah. She’d never risk that.’ He takes a sip of his wine and leans in a little further as if about to tell me a secret. So I lean in too.