‘I didn’t want him to know I was a journalist in case he was cagey with me. It was stupid but at the time it made sense.’ This is the best I can come up with under pressure.

The sound of Luneau’s pen pulling across the page fills the room.

‘Right, but you were there on Friday night? At the party?’

I nod.

‘Let’s start at the beginning of the evening then?’

‘Of course.’

‘What time would you say you arrived?’

‘I don’t know, maybe ten thirty,’ I reply.

He makes a note.

‘Can you tell me more about your memory of the night?’

‘Sure, I’d been out at a work do and saw that Noah was having a party. I was writing an article about him and wanted more information on him, to ask more questions, so I asked if I could come.’

He notes it down.

‘And did you see Sabine Roux there?’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘she was videoing everything. She kept watching me and Noah. I was with him for most of the night, you see—’ I’m getting ready to tell him about the video but he cuts me off.

‘How well do you know Noah Parker?’

‘Not well at all,’ I say. ‘I met him last week at his exhibition. But, like I said, I was there looking for more information for my article.’

He flips to a new page on his notebook and the sound fills the room.

‘And Sabine, how well did you know her?’

‘I didn’t know her. I’d seen her in Noah’s paintings and she was there at the exhibition last Thursday but we’d never spoken.’

‘But you said she was watching you all night?’

‘Yes,’ I say, swallowing hard. ‘Look, did Noah tell you that he ran after her? That they left the party together?’

‘Yes. He said she was upset and he wanted to calm her down, but then she ran off and he went back to the party—’

‘Did he tell you why she was upset?’ I interrupt.

‘He said she was jealous,’ Luneau says and then waits for my input.

‘Yeah. It was more than that,’ I say. My stomach twists as I say the words. ‘Like I said, she was videoing us. One of the videos was… intimate.’

Brigadier Moor smirks and throws Luneau a look. He’s thinking, And now we get to the real truth: she wasn’t there to write a story, she’s just some groupie who went there to fuck the rising art star.

But screw Brigadier Moor. I will not be slut-shamed.

‘It was of Noah and I having sex,’ I continue, matter-of-factly. ‘We were standing under cover, my leg was around his waist. Would you like me to draw you a diagram? It might help?’

Moor almost chokes on his coffee and Luneau shifts in his seat.

‘Go on,’ Luneau says.