Matty swallowed. ‘Kit, I’m sorry if no one’s told you this – I thought Clover at least might have mentioned it today.’ She shot Clover a cross look. ‘But Julian’s expecting you to come out for dinner with us tonight. He’s made reservations at eight.’

He digested the news in silence, looking slowly back at Clover. ‘. . . Why didn’t you mention it?’

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘Because I knew you’d say no.’

‘Oh. Because you know me so well?’ The question was a taunt. ‘Just because you can’t think of anything worse . . .’ he replied, quoting her words back to her. He looked back at Matty again. ‘What time?’

‘. . . Now-ish?’ she grimaced.

Clover saw Foley droop fractionally. He had been training for eight hours solid, refusing even to stop for them to get lunch somewhere – all to punish her, she knew it. But he wouldn’t go straight out to dinner after such a gruelling session, just to spite her. Surely?

‘Fine. Give me ten. I need to shower,’ he muttered, leaving his board propped against the wall.

Clover looked on in horror as he stepped into the lift and pressed for the fourth floor. The doors closed.

‘You have got to be fricking joking!’ she hissed at Matty. She had been fantasizing about her hot chocolate and long bath for the past four hours.

Matty winced, seeing her quiet fury. ‘I’ll make it up to you, Clo. I promise.’

‘How?’ she hissed. ‘How?’

Chapter Eleven

The door closed behind them with a swish and Clover felt eyes being raised as they walked up to the reception desk.

‘Linz, how are you?’ Julian asked, one hand casually slipped into his trouser pocket.

‘Mr Orsini-Rosenberg, always a pleasure to see you. I have your usual table ready for you.’

‘Very good.’ He turned and looked at them all. ‘You’ll like it.’

Foley said nothing. He was wearing the black suit she’d seen in his wardrobe, no tie, and was staring at Linz like the poor man was the source of all his troubles.

‘May I take your coats?’ Linz asked, as Matty wriggled slinkily out of hers, Julian rushing to help her.

Clover was resistant to taking off her ski jacket at all. She was still chilled from her day effectively sitting in a fridge and her three-minute shower hadn’t cut it in warming her up. She gave a shiver as she reluctantly wriggled out of it, Foley making no attempts whatsoever to help her get her arm out.

‘Won’t you follow me?’

Linz led them through the restaurant. It had old fir planks on the ceiling and slate walls, with an open fireplace and contemporary rugs. The fawn-leather chairs were handsome and spare in the 1930s style, set around large tables draped with curtain-quality cloths. Church candles flickered on every surface, sculptured bronze plaques adorned the walls. The overall effect was intimate and grand, arresting and timeless.