She and Johnny had spent the past few days immersed in this ‘soft start’, scouting locations, using the drone and filming holding shots in different weather conditions and at different times – dawn, sunset and today, late afternoon. They had done as Ari asked and kept their heads down, circling Kit and the athletes without ever drawing too close (although word had apparently still got out that Foley had his own film crew; ‘The ego has landed,’ someone had shouted at them from a distance yesterday).

But their tiptoeing appeared to have little effect. Far from Foley’s mood improving, familiarity seemed only to breed yet more contempt. When they’d come back from dinner with Julian on their second night, Kit, Beau and Ari had already been in their bedrooms and all left for a training run ‘off site’, according to Carlotta, before the others were up for breakfast the next day.

The next couple of days had followed much the same routine. It was childish behaviour but Clover refused to be riled. She reminded herself she was playing a long game; she could afford to let a little time slip between her fingers. Besides, they always had to come back to the chalet sooner or later, and when they did, she made sure she was on the sofa, greeting them with a relaxed smile and asking how their day had been, as if they were in fact friends, as if her plans had not revolved around them at all.

Beau was always friendly, if somewhat sheepish, like an overgrown puppy put on guard duty when he just wanted a cuddle. Ari was brisk and noncommittal in Kit’s presence, but Clover sensed he was doing what he could behind the scenes. Kit still wouldn’t even look at her. He would come up the stairs, look into the kitchen to speak to Fin about whatever he wanted to eat and – if she was around – retreat to his room. She always watched from a distance. If she wasn’t yet getting in his face, she was making sure she was in his space.

‘Yes!’

She looked up to see Johnny jump to his feet and get his face to the camera. The clouds were breaking momentarily to the west and the early winter sun was suddenly dazzling, bright shafts of light blasting towards the glacier like flashing swords. She jumped up and grabbed the giant light reflector, holding it at the angle Johnny had wanted, watching as he carefully, expertly moved the camera round. Not too fast, not too slow. He knew exactly how this shot had to read when they were editing the documentary and splicing it together, early next year.

He looked back at her. ‘Got it,’ he grinned.

‘Worth waiting for?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Worth that trek though?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Good. My thighs are killing me,’ she groaned. ‘I think I’ll have a swim tonight.’