For a flicker of a moment, Armand's smooth brow tenses, uncharacteristically, as he searches for the answer to that question, the lines of a frown sketching across his face. Then it clears, and he settles back again into his expression of patient calm.

"A painting, yes. The owner of the house purported to have an early Raphael, a Madonna with Child, rescued from the Italian war theatre. He is very private about his collection. I decided to come and see for myself."

He doesn't say why he chose to leave Louis in Dubai, despite his apparent vulnerability. Or why he has slipped loose from his habit of complete control, and travelled halfway around the world by himself to view a single painting, when the penthouse is perfectly equipped to handle video calls. It's too much of a coincidence, but his mind skips over the problems like a pebble skipping across a pond. Later, perhaps, that stone will hit an errant wave and plunge into the depths. But for now, this is enough.

His foot turns idly in the air as he speaks, pointed toes describing a circle. He shifts slightly, almost by accident, until it comes into contact with Daniel's shin. Eyebrows lifted a tiny fraction of an inch, he moves it, up and down. Up and down.