‘Why? I’m kissing my girl, who I haven’t seen in nearly six months,’ he said, holding her tight, smiling down into her eyes.

‘It’s very public here,’ she murmured, relaxing against him. It was good to feel his arms around her.

‘You wouldn’t meet me at my place,’ he chided.

She’d arranged to meet him in the Amsterdam BrewHouse on Queens Quay, where they’d often gone for brunch. She’d made sure to be there first, and had ordered a coffee while she waited for him.

‘I fancied a smoked brisket sandwich and a craft beer,’ she said easily. ‘It was one of my favourites.’

‘You look great,’ he complimented her, pulling out the chair opposite hers and waving at a waiter to catch his attention.

‘You look pretty good yourself, Marc,’ Marie-Claire returned, leaning her elbows on the table, smiling at him. For a few moments at least, it was easier to pretend that there was no hidden secret between them.

It was a warm, sunny day. The boats were bobbing gently on the lake, which glistened and rippled in the sun. She remembered how lovely Toronto was in summer and what happy times they’d had and suddenly felt unutterably sad.

‘So . . . how are things at work? Is New York doing well?’ she asked as he reached across the table and took her hand in his.

‘Flying – it’s really starting to take off, like I knew it would. You’d love it, MC.’

‘Would I?’ she said slowly. ‘How would Amelia feel if I came back? I don’t imagine she’d be too happy.’

Marc’s eyes narrowed and he looked uncomfortable.

‘Amelia? What about her?’ He frowned.

‘You take her to New York—’

‘Ha! I knew that got back to you,’ he grinned. ‘When you tweeted about being there with me, at Christmas. I knew you were pissed. See, I can make you jealous. You do love me, MC,’ he exclaimed triumphantly.

‘I was just wondering where is she in the picture. I presume you did sleep with her.’ Marie-Claire took a sip of her coffee with pretended nonchalance. If he admitted everything, there might be the faintest chance, she argued silently with herself. Or maybe not. At least if he was honest and owned up, she’d have some respect for him.

‘She’s not my type. Don’t be silly,’ he shrugged dismissively. ‘She’s only a junior.’

‘Really? But you promoted her. Lizzie told me. We do keep in touch, you know.’ There was an edge to her voice.

‘What are we talking about Amelia for?’ Marc said irritably. ‘She’s of no consequence.’

Marie-Claire took a deep breath. It was now or never. ‘She’s the reason I left, Marc. I know you’re having a relationship with her, and you were sleeping with her when you were with me before Christmas,’ she said steadily, not taking her eyes from his.