Ari leaned forward to the front seat and tapped Johnny on the shoulder. ‘No filming here, mate. The last thing we want to do is alert this pack of hyenas to who’s here.’

Johnny glanced at Clover in the rear-view mirror as he patted the camera on his lap, like it was a pet. ‘Sure. Understood.’

The driver turned into the hotel’s covered courtyard and stopped in front of the mahogany doors. Kit opened his car door and, with his head down, bounded straight past the uniformed doorman and into the revolving doors.

The photographers’ flashes started up instantly, his name yelled out indecorously, asking yet again for comments. They were too late to get the shot, but they weren’t too disappointed – at least they knew, now, that he was here and getting past them and up the mountain every day was going to be like running the gauntlet. He was clearly who they’d been waiting for.

Clover jumped out from her side of the car, pulling up the hood on her coat to hide her distinctive hair and keeping her face well away from the press pack – but she stopped suddenly as if hit by a bullet.

‘What is it?’ Matty asked, almost walking into the back of her. ‘Oh.’ She put a hand on Clover’s shoulder, steering her away from the sight of the poster on the opposite side of the road. Mikey Schultz was grinning back at them. ‘Jesus. Not exactly responsive, are they?’ Matty muttered angrily.

Inside the hotel, there was no sign of the unpleasantness that lay on the other side of the stone walls. Marble latticed floors gleamed beneath vaulted ceilings, intricate wall sconces threw out lacy patterns, vast picture windows gave directly onto the frozen lake at the back, snow lying on the surface in several areas.

Kit was already standing at the reception desk, his back to the lobby as he tried not to bring attention to himself, waiting for Ari to come over and tell them exactly which pseudonym they were booked in under. People were staring nonetheless. There was just something about him that drew the eye – his athleticism, his dynamism. It was his posture, too, though: head down, shoulders rounded, as if he was trying to hide.

They each had their own rooms. Julian was covering the tab. It was supposed to have been his grand gesture for the big debut; now it was his swansong. Matty, Clover, Johnny and Ari had rooms with balconies looking onto the lake, while Kit had a suite. Kit had just rolled his eyes when told. His sponsor’s ongoing generosity felt de trop when everything had gone so badly wrong.