But I knew it was something more; something worse. Light peeked out from under Roger’s door. A single beam snaked through the crack and as I stepped forward I lifted the kitchen scissors.

I pushed open the door. It was the shoes I noticed first; neatly arrayed, side by side, under the large mahogany desk. They were handmade brown suede brogues. The small lamp was switched on and its grisly glow was the only illumination in the darkened room.

At first I wondered why the body was swivelling and for a brief second I imagined my boss might still be breathing. He twirled from the high oak beams until his body suddenly seemed to still in front of me.

The scissors slipped from my grasp. I didn’t scream or cry out but found I couldn’t move. I stood in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for someone to lead me away, to explain, to comfort and reassure me.

The phone rang. Mitch was my first thought. Perhaps he wanted to apologise for not calling me last night when he got home from the party. But I let it ring while I stared at the bulging plastic Waitrose bag. It covered the head of the torso and was tightly secured by a skilfully knotted noose. Roger was an avid sailor and the wall behind his mahogany desk sported a unique collection of fifty sailor’s knots in a beech wood frame. Crystal had given it to him for his fortieth birthday.

I don’t remember calling the police but they turned up and so did Oliver, some forty minutes later. The crime scene soon swarmed with people and all I could hear was the wailing from Dominique of La Patisserie as she handed out strong cups of coffee.

‘Oh my god. How awful. Was there a note?’ Oliver put his arms round me, hugged me tightly. I was too numb to fight him off.

‘Yes. It’s on his desk.’

My body shook and the paramedics tried to calm me with sedatives, but not before I’d managed to take a photocopy of Roger’s suicide note, and safely tuck it away in my pocket.

‘Shit. What did it say?’ I felt an irreverent revelling in the ghoulish events from both Dominique and Oliver. They kept pressing me for details but I wasn’t going to read the note aloud. I noticed the police were already bagging up the crime scene evidence.

A young DI handed me his card once he had crawled back out from under the yellow tape surrounding Roger’s private sanctum. The detective was careful to avoid contact with the sculptures. ‘Is there anyone at home, someone you can be with? This has been quite a shock and it’ll probably hit you later.’

‘Yes, my boyfriend will be at home. Can I go?’