‘Hello.’ She smiles, going about her business, but then she looks back at me, her eyes narrow just a little, there’s a flicker of recognition, a hint of a smile and then: ‘Have we met before?’

And even though there’s no way she could have seen that video – unless Sabine sent it to her on Friday night before she died – my face flushes.

‘Yes,’ I say, grinning idiotically like I am happy she remembers, ‘I was at Noah’s exhibition last week. We spoke, actually. Right in front of that painting.’ I point to the painting of Sabine with the red lighter. But, with art, everything is about context. That painting looks different now. Sabine no longer looks composed, now she looks wounded, and the red looks a lot like blood. Now it looks like a warning, a warning none of us read.

‘Do you work here?’ I ask. Because, you know, it would be weird if I already knew that this was her gallery from e-stalking her.

She laughs and her mouth makes a curve, but her eyes don’t crinkle. It’s as though the top and bottom parts of her face are disconnected. ‘I own this gallery,’ she says. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Grace was a friend of Sabine’s,’ the mousy-haired girl explains, interrupting my thought process.

‘It’s so sad,’ Agnès says. ‘We all loved Sabine. She had a real spirit. Such a talent.’ But all I can hear is Noah’s voice in my head saying: Agnès doesn’t even like Sabine’s work, she calls it a Hallmark card on steroids.

Why do people only decide they like you, that you’re talented, once you’re dead? Still, at least this is safe territory.

‘Yes, you were going to exhibit Sabine here, right?’ I say, in an attempt to solidify my lie. ‘She was so excited. Wouldn’t stop talking about it.’

But something in Agnès’s eyes changes. Like a match igniting. I’ve said something wrong and I don’t know what it is. I need to leave before this goes badly.

‘Yes,’ she says slowly, her smile strained.

I give it a moment then check the time on my phone.

‘Well, I should be going,’ I say, with a small fake smile.

And then I head to the door. It’s only as I step outside I realise I’m holding my breath and my shoulders are around my ears.

The door clicks closed behind me and I start to walk down the road. I pass the alleyway once more and glance down it.

And just above the back door, right where Noah and I were talking, is a CCTV camera.

Chapitre Dix-neuf

Chapitre dix-neuf