A few minutes later he spotted Rohit Singh in his wing mirror. The photographer was strolling nonchalantly along the pavement, camera slung over one shoulder, clearly content to be fashionably late. Seb watched as he disappeared into the shop. The next twenty minutes felt like an hour, with Seb continually glancing at his watch. He was sweating profusely. Thirty minutes. Had Priya lost her nerve? Forty minutes. Could she have changed her mind? Fifty minutes. Much longer and they’d miss their flight. And then suddenly, without warning, there she was, running out onto the pavement on her own. She paused briefly, before anxiously looking up and down the road.

Seb switched on the ignition and revved the engine, but he was only at the side of the lorry by the time the second guard stepped out of the Mercedes and began walking toward the boss’s daughter. The chauffeur was opening the rear door as Seb pulled up by the car. He waved frantically at Priya, who ran out into the street, jumped onto the back of the bike and clung onto him. The guard reacted immediately and charged toward them. Seb was trying to accelerate away when he lunged at him, causing Seb to swerve and almost unseat his passenger. The guard narrowly avoided being hit by a passing taxi and landed spread-eagled in the street.

Seb quickly recovered and maneuvred the bike into the center lane with Priya clinging on. The guard leapt up and gave chase, but it was an unequal contest. Once he had seen which way the bike turned at the end of the street, Seb’s fourth mistake, the guard immediately changed direction and ran into the shop.

When Mrs. Ghuman was told the news, she screamed at a petrified shop assistant, “Where’s the nearest phone?” Before she could reply, the manager, hearing the outburst, reappeared and led Mrs. Ghuman into her office. She closed the door and left her alone, while her customer dialed a number she rarely phoned. After several rings a voice said, “Ghuman Enterprises.”

“It’s Mrs. Ghuman. Put me through to my husband immediately.”

“He’s chairing a board meeting, Mrs. Ghuman—”

“Then interrupt it. This is an emergency.” The secretary hesitated. “Immediately, do you hear me?”

“Who is this?” demanded the next voice.

“It’s Simran, we have a problem. Priya has run off with Clifton.”

“How can that be possible?”

“He was waiting for her on a motorbike outside the shop. All I can tell you is that they turned left at the end of Altamont Street.”

“They must be heading for the airport. Tell the chauffeur to take both guards to the international terminal and await my instructions.” He slammed down the phone and quickly left the room, leaving twelve bewildered directors sitting around the boardroom table. As he swept through to his office he shouted at his secretary, “Find out the time of the next flight to London. And quickly!”