‘You tell me.’

‘Worse things happen at sea.’

Okay, you’ve lost your wife. Your tragedy trumps mine.

‘That’s what Andy keeps telling me.’

‘Ah,’ said John, that half-smile still on his face, ‘how is Andy?’

‘Fine.’ Should she tell him? They’d known each other for long enough, surely. ‘We’re sort of making another go of it. Or trying to, at least.’

‘Ah.’ Three paces, four, five, in silence. ‘Well, that’s good news.’

‘I hope so.’

‘The kids must be pleased.’

‘Yes,’ said Christine, who didn’t have a clue how either Ben or Isabelle felt about it. ‘They are. We are.’

‘Good,’ said John. They had reached the gate. ‘Well, Happy New Year, then.’

‘Oh, John . . .’

‘Don’t worry so much, Christine,’ he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Things have a way of working themselves out.’ The hand was still there, the kind, crinkled eyes full of amusement and sadness.

‘Thank you.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, John.’

They turned away from each other, she towards her office, he towards his.

If Rivelli would not return her calls, she had no choice but to speak to him directly. And if that meant hanging around outside the office in the freezing cold, then so be it. As long as she wrapped up warm, Victoria could wait.

Marylebone High Street was busy with shoppers, tourists and ladies who lunch. Sooner or later, someone would recognise her; one could only lurk around outside Conran for so long without attracting attention. And whatever lie she thought up – ‘Oh, I’m just looking for a new bedroom suite!’ – they would be sure to jump to the right conclusion. But she had to see him, and if necessary, she would come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day.

She had one card left to play – and it was an ace.

What was she hoping for, now, at the end of the game? She could hardly expect Massimo to enfold her in his arms, call her his little Mamma, and whisk her off to live happily ever after in France/Italy/Sardinia. She could barely hope to be reinstated as a kept woman. If the rumours were true, Rivelli might be out in the cold himself before too long. There was talk of bankrupcy, even criminal proceedings. She had better stake her claim now, salvage what she could from the wreckage.

‘Massimo!’

His head swivelled, and he nearly missed a step. He saw her across the street, signalled ‘Stay!’, as you would to a well-trained dog, and dodged through the cars, agile on his feet.

‘Victoria!’ He sounded pleased. She nestled into her rabbit-fur collar.

‘I’m sorry, I had to see you.’

‘Not here.’ There was a time when they’d have jumped in a cab to Kensington without a second thought. Now, however, there was no more Kensington. ‘The office. Come.’