“If we do go ahead with this, Samuel, there are some logistics I’m not certain of. For instance, I wasn’t sure if we should let it be known my daughter has security or keep it quiet. Her life has been messed up enough due to the decisions I made. She’s been forced to take a break from work, and she’s a presenter on the national television station here, so it is not great she’s doing so. People will already be talking. Perhaps the discreet route would be better. Perhaps … just possibly someone less … obvious than yourself?” Daddy clears his throat, and his foot starts up its relentless dance once more.

Samuel, I commit his name to memory.

He leans forward and steeples his fingers together. Under the pale blue of his shirt cuffs, I spy more ink crawling up his wrist on one side. Jesus, is he totally covered in ink?

“Can I be brutally honest?” Samuel’s voice is like syrup over nails.

“Of course,” Daddy says with a dip of his head.

“You want people to see your daughter has protection. Now, the original threat is against yourself, no? You didn’t react, and so they went for your daughter? This tells me the people threatening you are trying to intimidate and scare you. This isn’t a situation where, say, your daughter has a stalker who is obsessed with her. This is a situation where some people wish to scare you by threatening and possibly, harming, her. Having visible protection for her is a deterrent. It wouldn’t be for some unhinged, lovelorn stalker, but for these people, it will. I’m not claiming it will stop them attempting to harass or hurt you, ma’am.” For the first time he turns his full attention on me, and I’m caught utterly helpless in the laser beam of his gaze. “However, it might make them think twice.”

“Do you think one person is enough?” Daddy asks. “I did say to Mr. Silvanov that I thought I might need two people.”

“I am going to become your daughter’s shadow. Better one person who knows her routine, her movements, and the people around her, inside out, than a team of three or four who rotate. I will not be leaving her side.”

The panic I’ve been feeling all week builds inside, threatening to burst out. With fake calm, I stand and walk to the drinks cabinet at the far side of the room. I pour myself a neat vodka, not bothering with ice, and take it back to my seat, sipping it as I fold myself into the chair again.