‘It may help. Nothing’s guaranteed, I’m afraid. I’ll check whether Shane’s interested and get back to you. Jez told me to say hi, by the way.’

‘Oh. Well, tell him hi from me, too.’

‘He’d have been in touch personally but he’s had a family crisis – something good’s happened, but it needs his attention.’

‘I’ve had a crisis too, but not a good one.’

‘Anything I can help with?’

‘Thanks but no. It’s a mother–daughter thing.’

After she put the phone down, Sophie turned to the computer and tried to start work. But she couldn’t settle.

When the phone rang again, she snatched it up and agreed with Donna to do an exclusive interview the following afternoon with Peter Shane.

More interruptions, she thought wearily. But somehow she had to get these vicious gutter journalists off her back.

She didn’t get as much work done as usual because she kept wondering what her daughter was doing, whether she was looking for another job, how she was managing for money. But you couldn’t watch over them every minute of the day, not once they’d left home.

Her daughter was twenty-four and often loudly proclaimed that she was an adult, not a dependent child. Then next minute she’d be asking for money and acting exactly like a spoiled, immature brat. She’d always been difficult, going her own sweet way once she got an idea fixed in her mind. She’d changed her name at the age of twelve and refused point-blank to answer to Andrea any longer, either at home or at school. Sophie had never liked the shortened form, Andi, but Bill had just accepted it.

If only he were here to help. He’d always been able to manage their daughter better than Sophie had. Only he wasn’t here, never would be again. She still missed him dreadfully, his calmness in the face of crises, his support, his wry sense of humour, someone to touch you and cuddle you. And, of course, making love. She missed that, too.

Should she ring William and tell him about his sister, ask him to keep his eyes and ears open? No, waste of time. The two of them weren’t the best of friends these days and rarely saw one another. And to say her daughter didn’t get on with Kerry was an understatement. They were like two cats when they were together, claws unsheathed, ready to strike.

She abandoned the writing and began to play solitaire on the computer, a sure sign that she was upset. She never normally played during the daytime, only when she’d finished writing for the day.

The following morning it took Tom a minute or two to work out where he was when he woke up. The children! Oh yes, they were with his mother. They’d be well looked after.

His head felt heavy and his eyes were a bit sore. He suddenly remembered what had happened the night before and sat bolt upright in bed. He was in his father’s hotel suite, in a very elegant bedroom with his own bathroom.