‘It’s on my list of things to do for Ma.’ He took his phone out of his pocket. ‘I’m going to make a note of it now before I forget again. What’s the use of having a property developer son when he can’t even fix a tap for her?’ The question seemed more to himself than me but I picked up on it anyway.

‘Quite a lot of the house looks like it’s been modernised. That kitchen is beautiful and your mum clearly enjoys cooking and spending time in there. This room has obviously been redone as I doubt it came with an en suite originally, and I’m sure there’s more. Who did all this?’

Lorcan levelled his deep blue gaze at me and stretched out his long legs. ‘By the innocent look on your face, which I don’t buy for a moment, you know the answer to that question.’

‘Educated guess. And one stiff tap is not the end of the world.’

‘It’s not as it should be and that bothers me.’

‘Lorcan, I promise you I will cope and if it bothers you, then fix it. Get one ordered or a chap in or whatever you have to do if it’s getting to you that much, but don’t ever think you haven’t done enough for your mum. It’s easy to see what you mean to her and, from what I heard tonight, there’s plenty more you’ve done over the years, not just for her but for your whole family.’

‘I knew I shouldn’t have let Aoife switch places with me. My younger sister loves a gossip, true enough.’

‘She wasn’t gossiping. She was telling me about your family and I was interested.’

He pulled an unconvinced face.

‘Too late now anyway. I know all your deepest secrets.’ I waggled my eyebrows, expecting Lorcan to make some comment, or quip or just roll his eyes. But he didn’t.

‘I’d better leave you to your bath. Been a long day. Like I said, shout if you need anything.’ Pulling open the door, he gave a brief, fleeting smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and headed out, closing it behind him.

Why was it, just when you thought you knew someone, they did something that gave the rug you were standing on a good, hard yank, just in case you’d got too comfortable.

* * *

‘It’s OK, sweetheart. Peyton and I go way back. I know what I’m doing.’

Calum’s face was fixed on a point just over the photographer’s shoulder while I was staring straight at him, wondering if I could take him and thinking I probably could.

‘First of all, Mr Benson, I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me sweetheart. Madeleine, or Miss Hart, will suffice.’

He rolled his eyes.