It crossed Clover’s mind that perhaps it wasn’t Kit they were trying to sabotage, but Julian. Was a rival determined to shut him down before he’d even got up?

The only mercy in the entire fiasco was that thanks to the way her hair had fallen, she hadn’t yet been identified. No one had pieced together that she was the filmmaker responsible for the vehicle that had brought Kit’s actions to the world’s attention. And nor must they, not before she was ready . . . She needed to control the message. This collaboration was already controversial enough.

‘Would you like a hot drink? Something to eat?’ Carlotta asked.

Clover looked up in surprise. She had become lost in her thoughts. ‘A coffee would be lovely, thank you.’

She watched Ari and Beau head back into the games room. It looked like Johnny hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her there was nothing going on up here, that she wasn’t missing out.

‘I still don’t think you should be up,’ Matty said, watching her watch them. ‘You’re all spacey.’

‘Stop. I’m fine . . . Game of backgammon?’ She wasn’t going anywhere near the chess set.

Matty tutted but retrieved the board for them. She beat Clover three times straight, then gave her a pointed look. ‘I can never beat you that easily.’

‘Well, now you have.’

Clover sighed in frustration. How long was he going to stay up there? She turned and looked straight up at the glass wall. There was no movement that she could see. Was he even in there?

‘I’m going to go back to bed,’ she said, agitatedly getting up again. Matty jumped up to help her but she held out a hand in a firm ‘stop’ gesture. ‘Really – I’m fine. Just stay there. I’m going to take the lift, but if I need you, I’ll call you.’

Matty gave up fighting with her and let her walk over to the lift unassisted. Clover stepped in – but she didn’t press to go down. She felt a rush of blood to the head, sudden warmth in her cheeks.

The doors opened with a ping again twelve seconds later and she drew a steadying breath as she took in the sumptuous creaminess of the top floor. She stepped out, not sure what she was going to say. Not entirely sure why she’d even come up here. Yes, she was angry at him. She’d taken a punch for him and he couldn’t even be bothered to check she was okay? She didn’t even need him to mean it! The mere pretence of civility would suffice! But what was she going to do? Demand an apology? Demand he ask after her well-being?

She went to knock on the bedroom door but it was ajar and she hesitated, feeling an overwhelming urge to just look in and catch him – what? Sleeping? Sulking?