‘But you know, if in a thousand years they come along and they dig that pool up, they’re going to get one hell of a big surprise, those archaeologists. Because what they’re going to find, sunk in the concrete liner of the pool, encased in steel and finished off in blue and gold tiles, is the body of Signor Stefano Cassano.’

Isabelle had to come home. She didn’t want to; she’d have stayed at Will’s bedside until he woke, given the choice, but there are such things as responsibilities for the designer of a globally famous dress, and Will would want her to face up to them. So it was with a heavy heart that she disembarked at Heathrow.

Andy was at arrivals to meet her.

‘Your mum told me you were coming home today. She would have been here herself, but you know her. I suppose she’s got a big case on. Didn’t really have time for me. Everything else has to take second place, as usual.’

He sounded uncommonly bitter.

‘Have you and Mum been talking, then?’

‘Yes.’

He knows that she knows.

‘Right. Good.’

‘And that’s something I need to discuss with you, Isabelle.’

‘Mmm. I kind of thought you might. But right now . . .’

‘When you were staying at my flat . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Did you by any chance . . .’

‘I didn’t catch her name. Good taste in shoes though. Salvatore Ferragamo. Very expensive, Ferragamos.’

‘Ah.’

The traffic was bad getting out of the airport, and Andy said very little that was not directed at other drivers.

‘The thing with your mother,’ he said, when they were finally on the M4, ‘is that she’s a very black and white type of woman.’

‘Hence Ben and me.’

‘I don’t mean in that way.’

‘No. I didn’t think you did.’

A long pause while they glided along the motorway.

‘I mean, you know that she and I had sort of . . . well, we were going to give it another go . . .’

‘You got back together, you mean.’

‘That’s just it.’ Andy went to slap the wheel, but moderated the force of his blow at the last moment, and tapped it peevishly. ‘Your mother thought we had. As usual, she jumped to conclusions.’

‘Could that have anything to do with the fact that you were sleeping with her again?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘Is it ever?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know, Dad. You tell me. What did it mean to you?’

‘I’m very fond of your mother.’

‘And what about Ferragamo Lady? Are you very fond of her?’

‘Yes I am, as a matter of fact. If it’s any of your business.’

‘Oh come on, Dad. You let me stay in your flat. Presumably you knew that she’d come calling sooner or later.’

‘She wasn’t supposed to.’