Sol shrugged. ‘That’s the sketchy part. No one seems to quite know. You get how these things work. A word dropped in this ear. Encouragement dropped in that ear. There are those at the top who are still not comfortable with the idea of a Nought being our Prime Minister and they will do what they can to either remove him or discredit him.’

‘I said from the beginning that the case against him was flimsy at best,’ I reminded Sol.

‘Yes, well, without an uncomplicated, straight-up plea of guilty from Tobey, maybe the Chief Prosecution Service are coming round to your way of thinking. I don’t recommend you tell Tobey yet just in case the CPS decides not to back down. You don’t want to raise his hopes for nothing.’

Silently fuming, I nodded my agreement. Whoever it was who had set all these wheels in motion, Tobey being found innocent, or the case being dropped, evidently wasn’t the endgame they had in mind. And, with the possible evidence Tobey had against her, where would all this leave my mum?

‘Sol, if you need me, I’ll be with my client,’ I said. I spun round and headed for the exit.

‘Callie, please be careful,’ Sol called after me. ‘Yes, there are political manoeuvrings against Durbridge going on, but that doesn’t mean that he can be trusted. If he goes down, like a drowning man, he’ll grab hold of you and try to drag you down with him.’

Which stopped me in my tracks. I turned my head. ‘Sol, believe me, I know that.’

I kept on walking.

thirty-seven. Tobey

I buzzed round my apartment, making sure there was nothing untoward that would rain down Callie’s disapproval upon me. No knickers stuffed behind the sofa cushions. No lipstick or earrings ‘carelessly’ discarded by past acquaintances, hoping to use the absence of their personal items as an excuse to visit me again. I used a cleaning service who came every other morning to see to the place, but my usual cleaner was on two weeks’ holiday and I had declined the offer of a replacement. Once in a while, it did me good to fend for myself as a reminder of where I came from.

Look at me! What the hell was I doing? Trying to make a good impression on a woman who found me deeply unimpressive. And, with her mum whispering in her ear, what chance did I have? On the night of Dan’s party, when George announced that dinner was served, Sephy and I’d had a brief chat – if you can call it that – as we headed for the dining room. If I’d vomited gold bars and pooped pearls, that woman would still give me the serious side-eye. I remembered every word of our conversation.

‘What’s what, Sephy? How’s Callie Rose? I haven’t seen or spoken to her in too long.’