‘They’re from that posh new florist on the high street,’ Chloe added, more pragmatically. ‘Must have cost a fair bit, bunch that size.’

‘Have you got a secret admirer?’ Bryan wagged a finger at her. He was the worst for gossip. By a long way.

Tara stared at the arrangement. Had Dad got off the phone and straight on to the florist? She could picture him doing that.

Although … maybe they were from Phil? All right, so a phone call would be a much better way to apologize for his silence, but maybe the card would include directions to some romantic boutique hotel? Her stomach fluttered traitorously.

‘Must be from a client,’ she said, as calmly as she could. If Bryan’s intrigued expression was anything to go by, the watercooler rumour mill would be whirring off its axle by lunchtime.

‘A client that fancies you!’ Kemi purred.

‘No, they’d have sent dog roses,’ Hero corrected her. ‘Meaning pleasure and pain. Or maybe tuberose, for dangerous pleasure.’

Chloe gave Hero a side eye, then turned back to Tara. ‘Aren’t you going to see who they’re from?’

‘Haven’t you already peeked?’ Tara lifted the huge bunch off the desk.

‘Morning, David!’ Chloe added, spotting him collecting his post from the pigeonholes behind them, and Tara caught a quick glance pass between Hero and Chloe. David was already popular with Chloe and the reception team, most of whom were dog lovers.

‘Morning, all!’ David waved his post in a crisp salute, then, unseen by the others, raised his eyebrow in passing at Tara as he went up the stairs to his room.

‘Tell us who they’re from at least, Tara!’ Hero protested as Tara gathered up her bag and flowers and, after a subtle delay, followed him up the stairs.

Tara didn’t respond because she didn’t intend to open the card until she was safely on her own.

To her surprise, the flowers weren’t from her dad. The card read, Thinking of you always, Pumpkin. All my love, Big Phil xxxx.

Tara sank back against her desk, feeling conflicted. Every now and again, Phil sent her generous presents: a bottle of champagne here, some fancy chocolates she’d mentioned she liked there. He’d once sent her a pair of silk pyjamas so nice she still hadn’t worn them. The problem was, he never called her Pumpkin, or referred to himself as Big Phil. He called her Taz, and himself something a lot worse than Big Phil.

Either he’d forgotten what he called her or, more likely, somewhere Pumpkin was opening a card reading something she wasn’t expecting at all.

Tara was surprised by how crushed she felt. It was one thing to have suspicions. Another thing to have someone drag your suspicions out from the back of your mind where you were studiously ignoring them, and force you to examine them properly. And then to examine yourself.