‘Yes. We spent many nights together. Each time we used protection, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘But… after what you said last night, I… I want to know if the baby is mine. Is it possible to take a DNA test, to find that out?’

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but Tomek beat her to it. ‘What’s the point? The baby’s dead. Nothing would be gained from that.’

Florian prodded the side of his head. ‘For my own sanity.’

Tomek told the man that it wouldn’t be possible. ‘It was less than three months old, from what I understand. We may never know the father. I’m sorry.’

The man dropped his head, looking deeply into his lap. They both gave him a moment to compose himself and his thoughts.

‘She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen,’ Florian explained, talking to his knees. ‘She was like a portrait from the Renaissance. She was like the Mona Lisa.’

‘Are you an art fan, or just have a casual interest?’

‘I’m an artist.’ At that, Florian lifted his head with a morsel of pride that was lost amongst the grief and despair.

‘What do you paint?’

‘Anything and everything. My surroundings. Landscapes. People.’

‘Did you ever do one of Angelica?’

The man nodded slowly. Then, without saying anything, he reached into his pocket, unlocked his phone and scrolled through his camera roll. A few seconds later, he found the photo he was looking for and slid the phone across the table. Tomek reached for the device and held it between them. On the screen was a close-up of an angel, perched on the edge of a bed, half naked. The woman in the painting was unmistakably Angelica, with the long black hair, the dark eyes, the slim figure, the jawline, cheeks, nose. It was eerily accurate.

‘How did you do that?’ he asked.

‘From memory. After our first night together, I was unable to get her out of my head. I had such a clear picture of her that I needed to get her down on the canvas. It was the only way I could get her off my mind.’

It was clear to see that Florian had been, and was quite possibly still, infatuated with Angelica. Infatuated with her the same way that all the men in her life seemed to be. From Micky Tatton striking up conversation with her on board a European flight, to Shawn Wilkins liking and monitoring every waking (and sleeping) moment of her life, to Sammy Mercer, who still believed there was a scintilla of hope they might get back together again. She was adored, loved, admired, and in some cases lusted after. And in the end, it had led to her death.

‘Did you ever get a chance to show it to her?’ Rachel asked.

Florian shook his head. ‘I tried. I sent it to her mobile number, but I think she must have given me a wrong one, because she never replied. And I couldn’t show her in person because there are no phones allowed, so she never got to see it.’

And now she never would.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Tomek had been staring at the picture on his computer screen for almost half an hour. With each scroll of the mouse and prod of the arrows on the keyboard, he saw something new, a new detail, a new layer of meaning. He had never been massively into art – he thought it was all bollocks and that the artists just painted whatever they wanted to paint, and that there was no hidden meaning behind the artist’s choice to use one particular stroke or colour over another – but there was something about this particular image that had piqued an interest within him, an interest he didn’t know he had. The naked bodies, the enlarged fruit, the curious and unusual animals, the descent into depravity and hell. It fascinated him, and admittedly, despite himself, he was feeling a little inspired. That perhaps he could try something like that, something unique and representative of sin and lust. But then he remembered that he could barely draw a stick man, so an accomplished tapestry of art like The Garden of Earthly Delights was well beyond his capabilities. Still, it was nice to dream to think he had it in him.

As he scrolled across to the right side of the triptych, the dark and demonic depiction of hell, Tomek’s phone began vibrating on the table. The sudden sound and movement made him jump. Fortunately there was no one nearby to see it. He reached for the device and glanced at the caller ID. At once, all the inspiration, wonder and creativity that had been garnered from the painting, leached out of him.

It was Abigail. Possibly calling to ask him about coming round, or to argue with him about the night before. Or possibly, and much less likely, she was calling about work and what information he might have for her. Only one way to find out. Pushing himself away from the table, he bit the bullet, darted into a small office, and answered the call.

‘You all right?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Yeah. You?’

‘Yeah. Not bad.’

‘Good.’

Tomek waited for her to speak. Neither of them wanted to be first. Neither knew what to say. Just as Tomek opened his mouth, Abigail interrupted.

‘Come down,’ she said.

‘Pardon?’

‘Come down. I want to speak to you.’

Tomek looked around the room, panicked, as though his girlfriend might suddenly appear from behind a wall like a ghost.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m outside. In the car park. Come down.’

Tomek scurried round the table, his knees bumping into the chair and table legs, as he rushed towards the window. There she was, her bright red SEAT parked in the corner of the car park. He inhaled deeply, observing her. He had no choice.

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

The temperature inside the car was colder than the air outside. The engine was switched off, which meant she wasn’t planning on going anywhere fast, and to really drill that point home to Tomek as he climbed in, he noticed the car keys were on her lap. An extra step required before she could drive away in a state of anger or frustration.

He expected the worst.

Abigail’s hair was pulled from her face with the help of a hairband. She was dressed in a blazer and smart trousers, with a plain white shirt. Pinewood and ochre oozed from her body and quickly filled his nostrils. Her make-up had been delicately done, yet it was unable to hide the deeply unimpressed and aggravated expression in her face and eyes.

Tomek said nothing as he shut the door, filling the space with silence.

It didn’t last long.

‘How was last night?’ she asked.

He sensed the accusation in her tone immediately.

‘Last night?’

‘Yeah. With your girlfriend.’

Rachel. The Nights of Eden. Fuck. But how could she have possibly known?

‘How do—?’ Tomek started, but she cut him off.

‘I saw you two going out together.’