‘The test being that Owen Flyte should kill me.’

Lady Norton gave a small, embarrassed cough into her handkerchief. ‘Yes, yes, I’m terribly sorry about that. You must understand that there was nothing personal intended. It was merely a means to an end. I needed to ascertain Mr Flyte’s skillset. The fact that you were in Derby making Doyle nervous, well, it just felt like a case of killing two birds with one stone.’

‘Only . . .’

‘Only . . . it did not go according to plan. I’m told that you were highly skilled in your dispatch of Mr Flyte. I’m also informed that you managed to pose as him to infiltrate Doyle’s operation. And that you did this to avenge your brother. Am I right?’

‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘You are tough. You are resourceful.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that in a month’s time, when my husband’s game to the death is staged and the members of our family each present our proxy, I would like you to be mine.’

Abbott had been expecting it, of course. Ever since she mentioned the death match idea. After all, why else would he be here? Just that the idea – the whole concept – was so incredibly outlandish. ‘Where exactly is this game going to happen?’ he asked.

‘My husband’s lawyer, Jeffrey Coombs, is soon to release that information. All we know is that it will be taking place in some kind of suitable arena in an Eastern European country.’

‘And it’s a battle?’

‘It’s a battle.’

‘An actual battle? To the death. We’re not talking paintball or Airsoft?’

‘No, Alex. This is a game to the death. Winner takes all.’

‘And just so I’m absolutely clear about this, you want me as your proxy?’

‘It’s the reason you’re here today.’

‘But if you know so much about me, then you’ll know that I drink.’

‘Indeed, I do know that. I also know that you managed to defeat my champion, a man I was told was among the best.’

‘And that hasn’t left you feeling sore?’

Again, she laughed. ‘Of course it’s left me feeling sore. It’s left me out of pocket. But at the same time, I was under the impression that I was hiring the best and if the best can be beaten then . . .’ She spread her hands. ‘Besides, I’m fairly confident that any drinking issues you have you will manage to keep under control between now and the big day. The lure of £2 million is enough, surely?’

‘I’m sorry – what?’