I browsed the designer arcades on the short walk to the gallery. Roger had given us both a healthy Christmas bonus and a year ago I’d have confidently strolled into one of the boutiques and allowed myself the luxury of being pampered, cajoled and complimented while I spent the entire amount on a cocktail dress. It would have been a dress which would make Mitch wild with desire as he tore it off my shoulders.

This particular morning the sequinned silken offerings held no sway as I wandered on past. The weather mirrored my mood.

When I reached the gallery I fumbled with icy fingers for the keys. I was so desperate to get into the warmth I dropped them twice and had to scrabble round on the gritty surface to retrieve them.

Oliver wasn’t coming in today, which was a blessing. I didn’t feel up to vacuous conversation and his threatening innuendoes. I wouldn’t see him until after Christmas. However, as I tried to get the key to turn, I wondered why he’d left the light on. Through the frosted panes I could see a faint glow.

‘Merry Christmas!’ someone shouted as they passed by. A glance confirmed it was Dominique from La Patisserie a couple of doors down.

‘Hi. And to you. I’ll pop by later for a coffee,’ I said. Without making eye contact, I continued to struggle with the frozen mortise. When I finally managed to open the door, I realised the alarm hadn’t been set or else had been turned off. I immediately suspected a break-in through the rear of the building. I shivered.

The front of house seemed in order as I scoured the walls, confirming that the ten ‘original oil on canvas’ paintings were still in place. The pictures were protected by individual miniature alarms and cameras, and I fingered the frames to make sure each piece was intact.

The half dozen sculptures were also intact. They were strategically sited round the room, in minimalist fashion to draw the eye. The Mother and Child piece stood out, curving in erotic lines, depicting the wonders of the female form and a testament to the power of motherhood. It had always been my favourite.

I gingerly made my way towards the kitchenette and turned the light on with a theatrical gesture.

‘Hello? Hello?’ I could sense a presence. There was an exaggerated quietness, a staged stillness and suddenly I was afraid. Something was wrong. There was someone in the gallery with me. They were hiding, waiting.

My first reaction was to call the police but I wasn’t sure what I’d tell them. There was no obvious sign of a break-in and Oliver might have forgotten, in a drunken careless moment, to turn all the lights out and to set the alarm.