Chapter 142

Lucette had never been to Ariston ’s city home before. Now she walked around the elegant rooms that took up the top floor of a nineteenth-century townhouse. The living room and dining room had been knocked together to create a large open space scattered with black and white leather sofas and tables of chrome and glass.

A huge canvas of wavy green lines and white splotches was the only colour in the whole room. She stood in front of it, wondering if this was the kind of modern art Ariston liked. It had probably cost a fortune, and it looked as if it had been painted by a five-year-old.

"A masterpiece made by my nephew Timon," he said, as he came to stand beside her.

‘I didn’t know you had a nephew.’

There was, she realised, so much she didn’t know about him. She knew what he liked in bed, and what kind of food he liked to order in, and that he preferred classical music to jazz. She knew he shaved with an old-fashioned straight razor and that the only cologne he wore was a splash of c