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How much did she pay? I ask him.

I look up After the City Fell and change my mind on her wanting a piece of him. It isn’t about the artist, it’s about the paintings. I see the pain of divorce and wreckage screaming through the brushstrokes. Monochrome with slashes of red.

Seven twenty, Jack says, and that gives me a rush of optimism. Vescari’s previous works sold for just shy of five hundred grand.

I update Helena Mercer’s details on the spreadsheet tab.

The most she’s paid publicly is £860,000, but reports of two private purchases suggest she’s comfortable spending more than a million. She usually enters the bidding late, rarely bids twice in quick succession and has never dropped out immediately after the price crosses a major threshold.

Jack believes she dislikes appearing predictable.

I think her financial adviser must give her an initial limit, but that flies out the window once she becomes personally attached to something.

Both conclusions lead to the same place.

She is our most likely buyer.

When is she having the viewing? I type back.

His reply arrives immediately.

Tomorrow. Camilla’s assistant says she requested the full condition report and close-up photographs of the gold. She booked the viewing in thirty minutes later.

Useful.

Very useful.

I update the sheet as another message from Jack comes in.

What’s our safe ceiling now that Mercer is definitely invested?

Here we go again. We’ve discussed this at length a dozen times already.

The problem isn’t Jack’s finances, or how much he can get bidding clearance for. It’s how far he can push the bidding without turning it into another purchase by the same man who bought her charity pieces.

If Jack wins, William will call it out as personal interest. Christopher will call it sleazy manipulation. People might well decide that Alice is nothing more than a casino owner’s expensive infatuation.

Another buyer needs to take the final step, but every bid Jack makes has to be real.

He can’t push the price too high and end up the winner. That would ruin everything.

Another message.

Now Mercer’s in, we can up it again, right?

I look at the figures. The money Jack can access without touching the casino accounts he shares with Eli. The extra amount charged by the auction house. The other works The Gilded Table may purchase in the interim to support its credibility. The buffer required if something unexpected happens.

Stop it, Jack, I say. We set the budget already.

His reply pings straight back.

A thumbs down with a sour faced emoji next to it.

I can’t help but smile at my phone, and that’s a good thing. Without Jack’s incessant humour throughout the past week, the hammer blow of the engagement would have been unbearable. Instead, it’s brought us together. I feel a sense of drive and ambition with The Gilded Table I haven’t felt for years at work.

Bill never got me scouting out paintings on his behalf, but still, that isn’t what’s making the difference.

It’s Jack.