‘No!’ she gasped, pushing now past the people getting in her way. She didn’t care if she was rude, she didn’t bother to listen to their indignant protests at her lack of manners. But even before she got to the doors she could see the furious glare from the photographers’ flashes. It was like seeing an atomic bomb from the moon. White and silent.

She burst through the doors. The noise was like a wall. Kit was being surrounded by reporters, their microphones thrust in his face, all of them asking for a comment, any comment, what comment did he wish to make, on the allegations made this morning by his former fiancée Amy Killicks?

He looked stunned and Clover saw his face freeze as he registered what Amy had done, understanding he had been exposed at last. Slowly he turned, as if knowing she was there. He looked back at her standing on the ramp. He knew she knew.

He knew she was the reason Amy had gone public. They had squeezed her till the pips squeaked, with Matty’s incessant calls and emails, asking for her side of the story . . . But Amy didn’t trust them. By letting her know they knew about the engagement, they’d forced her to come out swinging. This was her only way to tell the story and control the narrative.

He blinked, three, four, five times, seemingly oblivious to the furore around him. He stood at the eye of the storm. He knew there was no coming back from this. She’d got what she’d come for after all. Kit Foley was done.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ari brought the car round and she and Johnny jumped in in silence. In all the commotion, their connection to Kit had been forgotten. The journalists were already filing copy to their editors. They had their backs turned. The big story of the night had already erupted.

They drove through the quiet town without saying a word and if Ari had worked out why Amy had sold her story, he wasn’t saying. He was grim-faced, his fists tight on the steering wheel. Kit was already home – he had climbed into a waiting taxi – and they were back at the chalet within a few minutes of him. Clover looked up as they swept up the street – she could see the lights on, not in the drawing room, but beyond the glass wall – in his bedroom.

Ari swung the car into the drive, his hands flexing impatiently as they waited for the gate to slide back. Everything was taking too long . . .

‘Leave him to me,’ Ari said in a tight voice as they trooped into the chalet’s reception hall. He shrugged off his jacket and undid his tie.

Clover’s mouth opened.

‘I mean it. You don’t want to be around him like this.’

She closed her mouth again, seeing Ari’s firm expression. She nodded.