‘Bel’s been trying to ring you from Thailand,’ Sally said, plonking a steaming cappuccino in front of me early the next morning. ‘She says your mobile number’s dead. It’s thirty-eight degrees in Bangkok apparently, the jammy cow!’

‘My phone went down the drain,’ I said flatly, glancing at the guest-list for the Dumped show tomorrow that lay on my office desk, my stomach churning unpleasantly at the very thought of the travesty that would ensue. ‘Literally.’

‘Ah, poor phone,’ Sally said. Then she looked at me properly. ‘Goodness, Maggie, are you all right? You look bloody awful. What’s happened to your head?’

Whichever way I’d tried to rearrange my short mop, it just wouldn’t cover the by-now aubergine-coloured bruise resplendent on my forehead.

‘That looks really painful.’ Sally peered at it. ‘Perhaps you should go home.’

‘I can’t,’ I muttered, ‘home’s out of bounds for now.’

‘What? Why?’ she frowned.

‘I’ve had a break-in. I’m back in Greenwich, at my dad’s.’

‘Oh God, Maggie, I’m sorry. What did they take? You didn’t disturb them, did you?’

Charlie sauntered in, his grey hair looking particularly bouffant today. ‘Nice to see you found the time to drop in, Ms Warren.’

I smiled feebly. ‘Sorry.’

He was about to lay into me when he looked at me properly. ‘What the hell’s happened to your head?’

‘I fell. Can you get someone to sort me out a work mobile, please, Sal?’ I chucked the Dumped list back at her. ‘This all looks fine.’

‘Really?’ She wrinkled her snub nose at me. ‘I thought you might be worried that Kevin bloke is a bit old hat.’

I’m absolutely beyond caring, I nearly said. I managed to restrain myself in time. ‘Why?’

‘He’s done Trisha and Jeremy Kyle. Oh, and the orange man.’

‘Lucky old Kevin,’ Charlie said dryly. ‘Let me see.’ He held out a manicured hand for the guest-list.

Sally and I exchanged glances. Charlie never looked at lists – it ballsed things up every time he got involved.

‘On second thoughts, Sal, I’ll recheck it now.’

‘You get on now, Sally dear. Go and whip up some enthusiasm from young Blake,’ Charlie said silkily as she passed me back the list. He pulled up a trouser leg creased sharp enough to cut yourself on and settled on the edge of my desk. Sally backed out nervously, her chest flushed with anxiety.

‘Sorry,’ she mouthed at me.

As the door shut, I pretended very hard that I was reading the list, although the words kept swimming around like little black fish.

‘I get the feeling, Maggie darling, you’ve been avoiding me.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ I gave him a wan smile.

Charlie examined those perfect nails. ‘Not thinking of flying the coop, are we? A little bird told me you’ve been asking around.’

My mouth went dry. ‘Asking for what?’