John held up his hand. ‘He hates his ex-wife because she’s bleeding him dry. He hates Will because he stood up to him and is taking him to court. The money doesn’t matter so much, but the negative publicity does. That could be the final nail in the coffin.’

‘And Victoria?’

‘He believes she is carrying his child. And perhaps she knows things, or suspects things, that could damage him.’

‘But do you really think he’d try to kill someone?’

‘I don’t know,’ said John, ‘but it’s always better to be safe than sorry, don’t you think?’

‘How can we stop him?’ said Christine.

‘That’s easy,’ said John. ‘We use the law.’

‘People like him are beyond the law.’

‘Christine, really,’ said John, ‘you disappoint me. Since when has anyone been beyond the law? It’s simply a question of stretching the law to suit the circumstances. The question in my mind is not how we can stop Rivelli, but which of the many ways of stopping him would be the most effective.’

‘Go on.’

‘At present, we suspect him of a lot but can prove very little. What we need is evidence. We need someone to talk.’

‘Janet?’

‘Never. She hates you – even if you did inadvertently win her case for her.’

‘Will? Joel?’

‘Wouldn’t stand up in court. Will’s withdrawn the original charge.’

‘Then that leaves . . . oh God.’

‘Exactly. Victoria.’

‘But she’s in hospital. In France. I don’t even know if she’s still carrying the child. And I don’t for one instant think she’ll speak to me, after all that’s passed between us.’

‘But we know something that she may not even suspect,’ said John. ‘Her beloved Massimo Rivelli tried to murder her. If you can persuade her of that, she might just come up with what we need.’

‘Are you suggesting . . .’

‘I certainly am,’ said John. ‘Bon voyage.’

We can’t be broke, thought Isabelle – but nonetheless she checked out of the Soho Hotel sharpish, and texted her father. He was in Dubai, but that suited Isabelle just fine. She had no desire to see him, particularly not to see him cosying up to her mother. She only wanted to use his flat.

There were spare keys with the concierge, and within a couple of hours Isabelle was standing at the window of the Docklands flat, looking down on the very same view that her mother had admired under somewhat different circumstances.

It was nice, the flat. Clean and neat, big enough not to be cluttered, small enough to be cosy. Handy for transport. Great views, good light, and not noisy. If Chelsea fell through, she wouldn’t mind a place like this. And if Andy was really getting back together with Christine, wouldn’t it make sense to hang on to the flat as an investment, and let her stay there?