‘Fair enough.’ He chuckled, unclipping the chinstrap on his helmet and taking it off for a few moments. He ruffled his hair, turning his face to the sky and enjoying the feel of the breeze. She could see that out here was his element. His entire body was relaxed, in harmony with greater rhythms.

He put the helmet back on again. ‘. . . So I didn’t see you out last night.’

‘You were looking for me?’ She was bemused by the intimation.

‘Anyone with eyes in his head would be looking for you, Clover Phillips.’ He pinned her with a direct look, making his feelings plain. He had a confidence that was alluring. ‘You should come out tonight. Penultimate night. It’s gonna be big.’

‘I can’t. I’m really snowed under with work.’ The rebuff was automatic, a knee-jerk response. It was true they’d been pulling especially crazy hours, trying to make up for the late arrival here after the fallout of the fight; but more than that – a party boy like him wasn’t what she needed right now.

They were approaching the top station and he effortlessly pushed the safety bar above their heads. They both stood and glided away down the exit ramp. He stopped beside her.

‘Listen, it’s not a big deal. There’s a band playing at M+M Bar tonight. They’re good,’ he said, buckling his boot. He straightened up. ‘You should come along. I’ll put your name on the door – you know, in case all this snow you’re under thaws.’

He grinned and gave her a wink, pushing his visor back down and setting off, leaning forward and back in languid arcs. He looked back once, giving her a salute.

Clover laughed, thinking how sexy he looked, how fun. She had completely forgotten that she was standing there, looking back at him with baguettes sticking out of her pockets.

‘Anything?’ Clover shrugged off her jacket and collapsed onto the sofa with a groan. ‘Ugh, my feet. I’ve been in ski boots all day.’

Matty, sitting at the small kitchenette table, wiggled her cashmere-sock-clad feet in return. ‘Actually, yes.’

Clover’s head lifted up with a jerk. ‘You have something?’

‘Yup.’ Matty got up and walked over with a sheet of paper in her hand. ‘Her name’s Amy Killicks. She’s twenty-eight, lives in Sydney now but was in LA at the time she was engaged to Kit.’

Clover took the printout and stared at it. It was a model’s bio sheet: height, 1.79 m; weight, 57 kg; hair, blonde; eyes, blue; measurements, 36–23–35.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, not sure she needed or wanted this information.

‘Biggest gig was the Pirelli calendar in 2016. She mainly does swimwear shows, catalogue shoots.’

Johnny came over to have a look, leaning on the back of the sofa. He gave a bark of laughter. ‘Holy cow! There she is – my dream woman! My future wife!’