Suze definitely felt the Bryce magic; I know she did. Everyone did. And the thing with Tarquin is that just before he met Bryce, he’d been in a fairly bad place. He’d fallen out with his family and had an embarrassing business failure, and he was generally feeling pretty down—when up pops Bryce, with his beach-volleyball sessions and his friendly chats and his charismatic personality. So it’s no wonder that Tarkie fell under Bryce’s spell.

It’s also no wonder that Bryce is after his money. When you’re as rich as Tarkie, everyone’s after your money. Poor old Tarkie. He has all this cash and stately homes and stuff, but I don’t think it makes him happy, really—

“OK, we’re about twenty minutes away.” Luke interrupts my thoughts and I jump. In fact, we all jump.

“Twenty minutes?”

“Already?”

“But we’re not in Las Vegas yet!”

“It’s this side of Las Vegas,” says Luke, squinting at the satnav. “Looks like a residential area. Lots of golf clubs.”

“Golf!” exclaims Janice in excitement. “Maybe Graham and his friend are playing golf! Could that be it, Jane?”

“Well, he does like his golf,” says Mum, sounding uncertain. “Suzie, Tarquin plays golf, doesn’t he?”

“A bit,” says Suze, sounding equally uncertain.

“That’s it, then.” Janice claps her hands. “It’s golf!”

Golf?

We’re all looking at one another, flummoxed. Is Dad on a golfing trip? Will we have rushed into the desert like mad things just to find him on the eighteenth green, wearing argyle socks and saying, Good shot, Tarquin?

“Does Bryce play golf?” Suze turns to Alicia.

“I have no idea,” says Alicia. “Seems unlikely. But I’d say there’s no point speculating till we get there.”

This is such a sensible, dampening-down thing to say, it ruins the temporary excitement. So we all sit in silence until Luke turns into a wide road lined with mansions and says, “This is Eagles Landing Lane.”

We all stare out of the car, gobsmacked. I thought Las Vegas was all bright lights and hotels and casinos. I sort of imagined that everyone just lived in the hotels all the time. But of course there are houses too. And these aren’t just houses, they’re palaces. The plots of land are huge and they all have towering palm trees or vast gates or something, as if to announce: I live here and I’m a pretty big deal.

We arrive at number 235 and gaze at it in silence. It’s the hugest of the lot: gray with four castellated towers, like a proper princess’s castle. It looks like it should have Rapunzel leaning out of a window.

“What does Corey do again?” says Luke.

“He owns a science company,” I say. “He has all these patents registered. And he owns stacks of property too. He does lots of things.”

“What kind of patents?”

“I don’t know!” I say. “They’re all in scientific gobbledygook.”

I scroll through my Google search and read out some of the entries. “Corey Andrews, honored by the Institute of Electrical Engineers…Corey Andrews stepped down as chairman of Firelight Innovations, Inc….Corey Andrews’s growing property empire—Oh. Wait. This is from the Las Vegas Herald, a few years ago: Corey Andrews celebrates his fiftieth birthday at the Mandarin Oriental with friends and associates.” I look up from my phone in consternation. “His fiftieth? I thought he was the same age as Dad.”