Matty stuck her tongue out at him. ‘Already taken, I’m afraid. She’s married to some tech zillionaire now.’

‘Course she is,’ he groaned, pushing himself back onto the sofa.

‘How did you find her?’ Clover murmured, feeling sick.

She was stunning. A regular doll.

‘You were right. There was a picture of them walking – I assume – her dog. Little, yappy-looking thing.’ Matty had grown up with German pointers. She had no time for yipsters.

She showed Clover another sheet. The image was grainy, mainly due to the printer quality: a tall woman in denim cut-offs and a black strappy vest, walking in Birkenstocks. Her hair was caught up in a messy bun, hoop earrings in her ears. Even ‘undone’ like this, she looked like a model. Kit was walking beside her, holding her hand. His grip was firm and he was smiling at her as she said something. He didn’t look anything like the hulk of festering anger Clover knew.

She handed the sheets back, not wanting to look at them. ‘And when was this?’

‘Well, this shot was taken in 2016 but it looks like they were together just over a year. There’s not many photos of them together because they were both always working – she’d be on location, he was on tour. You know, the usual tribulations of a power couple.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Her agent. Fabulously indiscreet, darling.’

‘Why did they break up?’

‘Pressures of work.’ Matty shrugged. ‘. . . You look disappointed.’

‘No, I’m not. I . . .’ She sighed. ‘I guess I was just hoping there was more to it. We have precious few inlets into his private life. None of the A-listers’ PRs will let us within a country mile of their clients and we don’t know who the other women are.’ She bit her lip. ‘D’you think she’ll talk to us?’

Matty shrugged. ‘I’ve asked, but the agent didn’t think so. Amy’s quite the lady these days. She’s stopped modelling. Likes to be seen at all the right places now, and with the right people. Her agent didn’t think she’d want to drag up her history with a surf rat, especially now – he’s hardly riding high in the popularity stakes.’

‘Well, keep on at her and see what else you can get. Even if it’s just the name of the next woman he dated after her. One could lead to another? There must be someone willing to go on the record about him in a private capacity. Both his parents are dead and Beau is . . . Beau. All we’ve got so far is Kit Foley, the sports star. Nothing on the man.’

‘Okay, I’ll do my best,’ Matty sighed, walking over to the small sofa opposite and sinking into it. ‘And how did you guys get on? You’ve been gone all day.’