‘No. I thought perhaps Fran had invited him.’

‘He seemed very taken with your self-portrait.’

She shrugged, implying that interest in her work was only natural.

‘Did you see him come in?’

‘He walked in just before Roddy started playing. I’ve seen him perform dozens of times so my attention wasn’t as fixed as everyone else’s.’

‘Was the chap on his own?’

‘I’m sure he was.’

‘You didn’t notice if he had a bag with him when he came in?’

She shut her eyes briefly, trying to visualize the scene. Her memory would be reliable. She was a painter.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No bag. His hands were in his pockets. He seemed quite relaxed at that point. He stood at the back of the crowd, just watching until Roddy stopped playing. Then he walked over to my painting, before moving on to the drawing of Cassie. He seemed very moved by it, didn’t you think?’ She stood waiting for a response.

‘He seems a bit confused,’ Perez said at last. ‘I don’t know. A breakdown perhaps. I might try to get him to a doctor.’

But by then Bella seemed to have stopped listening. She was looking around her, trying to gauge the interest in the art.

‘That’s Peter Wilding talking to Fran,’ she said. ‘I hope she’s being nice to him. He’s a buyer.’

The woman in the flowery dress had left Fran and her place had been taken by an intense middle-aged man in a white shirt, with very dark hair. Fran was talking and he was bending towards her, head slightly on one side, as if he couldn’t bear to miss a word.

Bella gave a little laugh and walked away. Deliberately Perez walked past the couple on his way into the kitchen. Wilding was talking now. His voice was low and Perez could tell he was gushing about the work, even though the individual words merged into the background noise. Fran didn’t even notice Perez.