I was rambling now. Alfie straightened on his stool, his posture stiff as he eyed me. “Okay, Andie, start from the beginning and leave nothing out. I want to know everything he said, word for word.”

So I told him about Stu’s proposition. When I was done we both fell silent, lost in a sea of our own thoughts. I had no idea what Alfie was thinking, but then he finally spoke. “I have to tell you something.”

I eyed him, curious. “Go on.”

He let out a long breath and reached for the wine, pouring himself a glass. It was unlike him because he didn’t usually drink, which made me wary of what he was going to say.

“Do you remember when we were teenagers and my dad lost all his money?” I nodded. “Well, after Mum threw him out she was beside herself because we were going to lose the house. Then she remembered my talent for forgery and talked me into painting a piece that we could sell. I was young and impressionable, and Mum had me convinced we’d be living on the streets if I didn’t do it, so I agreed.”

I stared at him, speechless. “How come you never told me?”

Alfie took a long gulp of wine. “I was afraid you might tell someone and that Mum and I would get sent to prison—”

“Alfie, I’d never—”

“I know you wouldn’t, but I’ve always been such a worrier. In the end we only sold three paintings, but it was enough to save the house. That’s why the Rembrandt you took for your bedroom is stretched on wood that dates from the seventeenth century. I used to practice with all sorts of materials to try and create pieces that could pass for the real thing. There are so many details that could expose art as fake and you have to know every single one.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I breathed, astounded. It was like he’d lived a secret life I knew nothing about. I was starting to wonder if today was just one bizarrely surreal dream.

“I only created the art. I never had any contact with the dealers. Mum took care of all that. I still have no idea who she used to sell the paintings to, but she knew a lot of wealthy people from the years she spent married to dad, attending galas and company parties. Maybe one of them was the guy Stu met in prison, or someone he knows. It would explain how he knew who I was. I’ve always worried those paintings would come back to haunt me one day and now they have.”

I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, not knowing what to say. Another long few minutes of silence passed between us. We were both lost in thought again.

When Alfie spoke he sounded nervous. “The man who came knocking today, he didn’t look friendly.”

“No,” I said in agreement. “I don’t imagine he did.”

“He’s going to come back.”

“I know.”

“And when he does, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone just as scary on our side, someone like Stu Cross.”

At this I swivelled to face him. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Okay, don’t go crazy but I’m . . . I’m suggesting we do it.”

I opened my mouth to speak, to ask if he was on crazy pills, but he held up a finger to shush me.

“Let’s face it, Andie, on your salary you’re going to be an old woman before you pay off all that money, and the interest is just going to keep piling up and up. I don’t want that life for you, always looking over your shoulder for dodgy loan sharks. And besides, I’ve already pulled this off before. It meant my mum and I weren’t thrown out onto the streets. If this time it means you won’t have to file for bankruptcy then I’ll paint whatever he wants, but I won’t let you help him with this robbery. In exchange for the replica, he’ll give us enough to pay off your debt, and the money will be considered payment for my artwork. We have plausible deniability. All I know is that a patron contracted me to complete a piece. I don’t know anything about a robbery and neither do you. It’s foolproof.”

“Alfie, I’m not sure it’s going to be that simple.”

“If he wants me to work for him then he’s going to have to make it so.”

His confidence bolstered me slightly. Trust my cousin to find strength in the surreal, while normal, everyday occurrences scared him half to death. I stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was really serious about what he was saying. His brown eyes met mine, never flinching.

Crap, he was serious.

“Let me sleep on it,” I said, trying to buy myself some time.

“No, call him now. Tell him to come here and we’ll discuss the particulars.”

“Alfie, slow down. I haven’t decided if I want to do it yet. I need to think everything through first.”

“If we leave it until the morning I’ll change my mind, I know I will. I’m always far more adventurous at night. So please, call him. Otherwise I’ll lose my nerve.”

Swallowing a mouthful of wine, I replied, “I don’t even have his number.”

“There must be a way for you to contact him. Does he have an email?”

I snorted, amused by the idea of Stu Cross having an email account. Even in this day and age, he didn’t seem like the type. Then I remembered we were friends on Facebook. Without thinking I pulled out my phone, logged in and shot off a message.

Andrea Anderson: Can you come by my flat? We need to talk.

It was probably a silly idea. I mean, I doubted he even used the account that much, let alone checked his messages. But then, to my utter surprise, after a couple of minutes I got a response. My palms grew clammy, mostly because I really hadn’t expected him to reply.

Stu Cross: On my way.

My heart started to pound, and my lips became dry as the reality sunk in.

“He’s coming over,” I told Alfie, my voice more air than sound.

He nodded, sounding almost as nervous as I did. “Good. This is good.”

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Knocking back the last of my wine, I went inside the bathroom and shut the door. Standing under the warm spray, I endeavoured to scrub away my misgivings. If Alfie, a man who was literally paranoid about everything and trusted no one, thought this could work, then maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched.

After I’d scrubbed my skin raw, I got out and dried off, hearing a knock on the door as I slipped into my bathrobe. He was here. My pulse sped up again.