I close my eyes for a moment.

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’ve seen him.’

For a few seconds there is only a faint crackle down the line. Coco doesn’t ask me what I know or how I found out.

‘Do you think it’s a coincidence?’ she says.

‘No,’ I say, ‘I don’t.’

‘Do you think he followed you there? Oh, Norah, you have no idea how vindictive he is. He once had this assistant—’

‘Yes,’ I say, interrupting her, ‘I think he followed me here.’

‘Holy fuck,’ says Coco.

Yup, I think, that’s about the size of it.

‘Norah, I’ve heard he’s planning something big. Something really big.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m afraid he’s going to kill someone.’ says Coco.

Not quite, I think, but all I say is, ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘What are you going to do?’

She sounds as hopeful as a child.

‘I don’t know.’

I’m sure I can hear her smiling. She knows I’ve just lied—at least, I think she does.

‘Take care of yourself,’ she says, ‘okay? I don’t want anything happening to you.’

‘Course I’ll take care of myself.’

‘Promise?’ she says.

‘I promise.’

Two lies within seconds.

As soon as I’m off the phone, I ring Max. He, too, picks up almost immediately, although it’s so late.

‘Hey,’ he says.

‘Hey,’ I echo. ‘You tried to call me.’

‘Yes. Oh, God, it’s all so completely weird.’

‘Max, before you tell me anything, there’s something I must ask you.’

‘Go on.’

‘A while ago you wrote to me saying that Paul was ill and needed looking after so you couldn’t go out with me, do you remember? But that evening you were in the Goldfinch with friends. I wasn’t spying on you, I swear, but I saw you there. I’m not offended or anything, I just wanted to know…’

‘What the fuck?’ Max says. ‘Paul? Ill? When was this?’

He stops to think.

‘I remember the evening in the Goldfinch,’ he says. ‘But I’ve no idea what email you’re talking about. And anyway, I’d find it a bit strange if you were offended, I must say. If anyone has reason to be offended, it’s me.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Excuse me? I asked you round to introduce you to a few friends and you didn’t even reply. Then you didn’t pick up the phone for weeks. I thought you were back on drugs or something.’

My brain has gone into overdrive. The more I think about it, the more certain I am: I didn’t lose my phone soon after I came to Vienna; somebody stole it from me. And that somebody must somehow have gained access to my emails and texts, deleting messages like the one from Max and sending other messages in my name—including the one that so outraged Tanja.

‘And what’s all this bull about us being ill?’ Max goes on. ‘Paul forces freshly squeezed green juice on us every morning. Spinach, celery, lemon—the works. Vile stuff, but it seems to do the job. We haven’t been ill all winter.’