I consider asking for Andriu’s room number at the reception desk but I’m not sure these posh places will give that sort of information out. Unless I pretend I’m a distressed relation with some bad news for him. Or maybe I could pretend to be the detective. There has to be some way of finding out his room number.

Eventually I come up with a reasonable plan that won’t make me look like a fool or an imposter so I scan the lobby one last time before heading to the toilet where I take my phone in my hand and ring the hotel.

‘I’ve a delivery for an Andriu Fitzpatrick, could you tell me what room he’s staying in?’ My heart is in my mouth. They might not believe me but it’s worth a try.

‘Sorry, can you repeat the name?’ the voice at the far end says and suddenly I feel hopeful.

‘Andriu Fitzpatrick.’

After a short pause I hear her voice again. ‘No, sorry, there’s no one staying here by that name.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. No Andriu Fitzpatrick. Is there a second guest in the room I could check?’

My mind is spinning. I want to tell her I don’t know if there’s a second guest. I know nothing about him anymore but I say nothing.

I hang up and look in the mirror where I watch the rage change the shape of my face. My eyes stare angrily, my lips tighten, my forehead shrinks. Tara Moore lied to me. She told me Andriu was staying at this hotel and he isn’t. I’ve been sitting here all afternoon waiting to bump into him, hoping, planning what I’d say when I met him, imagining the look on his face when he saw me. Maybe he’d take me to his room or invite me to dinner later tonight and we’d end up making love and rekindling our relationship. Andriu would realise he was wrong to leave me. He’d realise that he still loves me and we would be together again. But he isn’t here. Why did she do that to me?

Taking a deep breath, I gaze at the mirror. ‘You won’t get away with making a fool out of me again, Tara Moore.’ My voice is low, angry, determined. I turn away from my image and walk out the door, through the lobby and out onto the busy street. If I hurry I’ll be at her apartment in less than twenty minutes.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I’m standing across from Tara’s apartment building, my feet hurting from the constant pounding of streets in high-heeled boots.

My mother commented on how well I looked when she saw me leaving the house earlier. I was glad to hear the compliment. There are so few around at the minute.