‘That sounds great,’ Clancy said, relief trickling through her at this demonstration that yes, eighteen was adult. And, evidently, Will was earning back his nice-guy credentials.

But that left her with a long morning to while away, alternately trying to read or watch TV, changing books, flicking channels, until it was time to go.

She’d agreed that the most sensible place for the meeting was in the IsVid offices in Islington but it was freaky to arrive outside the yellow-brick building not knowing the code to get in. She’d once been so very much part of the team.

Will came down to take her in the lift to the fifth floor where he said the others were waiting. She had to physically square her shoulders before entering the conference room. There was a noticeable hesitation before she, Asila and Tracey hugged each other and it felt as if the harsh words exchanged here in May hovered above them. Monty, who’d played the biggest role in Clancy’s acrimonious departure, was stiff and non-huggy. Paradoxically, his palpable unease helped settle Clancy down. As she deliberately took the seat at the head of the table as if assuming authority, she patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry. I want things sorted out as much as anyone.’

Monty managed a wintry smile and began passing out coffee and tea from the drinks station at the side of the room.

It proved to be a long drawn-out meeting. Negotiating Clancy’s exit package and funding it were not matters of a moment and the ball was slow to get rolling as everyone waited for everyone else to air their views. It was nearly six when they broke to digest what had eventually been discussed. Clancy’s mind clanged with figures, with valuations, assets and liabilities.

She hadn’t had much spare capacity to worry about Harry and Rory but it was still a relief to call Rory’s phone and discover they’d found their way to the Thames and followed it as far as the Houses of Parliament.

Clancy relaxed. ‘If you still want a meal, we could meet up outside Westminster tube station.’ She was conscious that they could drain their collective purse rapidly in London.

‘Wicked,’ replied Rory. ‘We’re up for it.’

An hour later, she was watching them order pie and chips in St Stephen’s Tavern and thirstily draining pints of lager.

Will was OK and the apartment was great, they told her. When they’d tried to offer him money for food, he’d waved it away as ‘the least of his worries’. Renée was away all week, an arrangement Clancy strongly suspected to have been put in place once she knew Clancy was going to be around. No matter how convinced you were that all was fair in love and war, facing the person whose fiancé you’d stolen was probably uncomfortable. Renée wasn’t to know that any impulse Clancy had once had towards making life difficult for her appeared to have faded and died, along with her feelings for Will.