‘– and he said that through his work, he had come to see that life is not linear, but rather weaves and meanders in loops that sometimes touch to make a complete circle, connecting us back to a seminal point in our past. Many times it doesn’t, of course, snaking away again in different directions, a series of near-misses, if you like. But he said, occasionally, if we are lucky, the points can touch again and we get to close off a circle. And I believe that is what my father managed to do this summer. It was his last act of will, bringing his twin back into his life and coming full circle . . .’

Charlotte stepped back like she’d been pushed, knowing she hadn’t been so lucky. It had been a near miss for her, Nathan back in her life, in her bed, just fleetingly before he meandered away again, back to his family, his work, his life here . . .

‘Are you okay?’ Marina whispered, seeing how she pulled at the neck of her dress.

‘Yes, I . . .’ She felt eyes upon her. She felt hot. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m just going to freshen up. I’ll be right back.’

‘Okay, but be back for my speech,’ Marina said anxiously.

‘I will, I promise.’

She moved as discreetly as she could through the crowd, hurrying away from the congregated mass and down the marble corridors, following the signs for the Ladies. She needed to splash some water on her face and just take a moment. It was the surprise of hearing his name again, that was all. She should have known he would be mentioned tonight. After all, it was his work that had given the family answers and resolution.

Her shoes tapped rhythmically as she hurried past the priceless masterpieces, not seeing them. She turned the corner and rushed down the next hall, knowing her way around here so well; she and Mouse had been brought here so many times as children to see the various paintings the family had sold to ‘return them to the public gaze’ but which she had later come to realize was a cover for settling her father’s numerous drug-related debts. She didn’t need to turn her head to know that the copy of La Joconde was just down here on the left or that—

Suddenly she remembered again. With everything that had happened, she had completely forgotten, but she walked over now and stopped in front of the little Chardin, still sitting unobtrusively and discreetly amidst the splashier works. She stared at it in silence. It had been the painting he had most admired in her parents’ home, the only one that had seemingly touched him. She had barely ever noticed it, screaming past as a child on rollerskates with Mouse, blind to it as a sullen teen. But he had seen the world through a different gaze to her and he’d been drawn to how it showed ‘beauty in the small things’. She had sent it to him as a last-ditch attempt to reach out to him after she’d destroyed everything between them, after he had transferred to Oxford, ignored every message she left, returned every letter she wrote . . . and now it was here too, as tossed away as all her apologies. She realized she had forgotten to chase Katerina on it, both of them overtaken with other events.