‘Em!’ he banged on the window, shouting. ‘Wait! Wait!’

She drove off, far faster than normal. Recklessly fast. She was, ordinarily, a steady, cautious driver. Why hadn’t she waited?

He stood watching until she was out of sight, then turned back to his easel. But all he could think of was PC Lang. Who did not exist, according to the Sussex Police operator. Feeling very confused, and a little giddy, he sat at his desk and looked around, instead, for the business card from the Reverend Orlebar. He was certain he’d left it in a prominent place.

He riffled through a stack of cards and still could not find it. Where was it? Turning to his computer, he googled the Bishop of Lewes, found the phone number and dialled it.

It was answered by the briskly efficient woman’s voice he remembered from last week.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘It’s Jason Danes.’

He expected recognition, but instead was greeted impersonally.

‘I’m sorry, did you say Jason Names?’

‘Jason Danes.’

‘May I help you, Mr Danes?’

‘Yes – I came to see the Bishop last Wednesday.’

‘Last Wednesday?’ Her voice sounded dubious.

‘Yes. December the – er – the nineteenth.’

‘You came to see him on December nineteenth? Here in Lewes?’

‘Yes – I’m the painter.’

‘I don’t believe we had any painting done last week.’

‘No,’ he said, clumsily. ‘I mean I’m the artist – Jason Danes.’

‘And you say you came to see the Bishop?’

‘Robert Parnassus, yes.’

‘Last Wednesday? Here at his house?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I think you must be mistaken.’

‘No, I’m not, I met him around mid-morning on Wednesday.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Danes, but that’s simply not possible.’

‘I think you must be mistaken,’ he said. ‘I came to see him.’

‘No, I think it’s you who must be mistaken, Mr Danes. The Bishop wasn’t in the country last Wednesday.’

72

Thursday 27 December

Jason opened the calendar on his laptop to double check; 19 December was the date, definitely, that he had gone to see the Bishop.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘We are both talking about the same person, the Very Reverend Robert Parnassus, Bishop of Lewes?’

‘We are.’ The Bishop’s private secretary was sounding frostier by the second.

There was a brief silence while Jason checked the calendar yet again. ‘Well, I came to his house last Wednesday morning and I had a conversation with him. I was delighted to see he had two of my paintings in his office.’

‘Two of your paintings in his office?’

‘Yes.’

‘The Bishop has no paintings in his office. None at all. He has a few personal photographs of his family, but I can categorically assure you he has no paintings or art of any kind in his office. I don’t wish to be impolite, but I think you must be confusing the Bishop with someone else.’

Jason was now seriously wondering if she was right. ‘I just don’t understand, I really did meet with him.’

‘I would know,’ she said. ‘I have nothing in my diary.’