“Lord Cleath-Stuart,” he exclaims suddenly, and pointedly sits back down at the table next to Tarkie. “I was interested to hear about your charitable foundation. It supports local entrepreneurs, you say?”

“Ahm…yes.” Tarquin looks confused. “Did I mention that?”

“I would love to pledge half a million dollars,” says Corey in loud, clear tones. “Half a million dollars, today. Give me the details and I’ll arrange a bank transfer.”

“Babe!” Cyndi’s voice rockets through the room. Her face is glowing, and she looks like she might expire from pride. “You are amazing! You are awesome!”

“Well, what’s the use of having good fortune if you can’t share it?” says Corey stiffly, as though he’s reciting a memorized line. He glances at Dad and adds casually, “Shall we leave the other matter to another day?”

Another day?

In consternation, I meet Luke’s eyes. No. Nooo.

Corey’s so snaky. We had him; we totally had him. And now he’s wriggling out of our trap.

Cyndi is his Achilles’ heel. Cyndi would have got him to sign the settlement; that’s what the whole plan is based on. But now that she’s captivated by this new super-generous donation to Tarkie, she won’t care so much about Brent. Corey will be able to put it off and put it off and never do it….

I feel a sudden loathing for Corey, even stronger than before. What kind of twisted man is this? He’d rather spend half a million dollars on some random charity he’s only just heard about than take the chance to right the terrible injustice he caused. All because of some grudge. All because they fought over a woman. It’s awful. It’s tragic. It’s despicable.

But luckily…

I don’t want to boast, but…

I saw this coming. Ha.

OK, that’s not quite true. I didn’t predict exactly this happening. But I do have a contingency plan. And it looks like I’m going to have to put it into action right now.

Trying to look unobtrusive, I start to sidle toward the far partition wall in Jerry’s. Because we have a third room booked. (I’ve nicknamed it Häagen-Dazs.) And we have an eleventh member of the team. And she’s waiting patiently in Häagen-Dazs, on standby, just in case she should be needed.

Slowly, almost silently, I push the doors aside and beckon to her.

It took a whole evening of talking to persuade Rebecca to take part in this. She’s no big fan of Brent—she doesn’t care if he starves. And she’s no big fan of Dad either. (My theory is, he broke her heart back in the day. Although I am never ever sharing this thought with either of my parents.) But she’s even less of a fan of Corey—and that’s what tipped the balance. Sometimes you really need to appeal to people’s worst instincts. Which is a bit depressing, but there you go.

As Rebecca approaches the double doors that lead from Häagen-Dazs into Jerry’s, I can sense the team behind me swinging into action. Everyone knows about the contingency plan. We’ve practiced it. We’ve choreographed it. I glance round briefly to see Suze moving into place, while Ulla and Danny stand by her side, looking alert. They all know their briefs. In fact, there is only one brief, for everybody: Don’t let Cyndi turn round. Don’t let her see Rebecca.