In a quieter way, it was a gift to Christine and John. Of course, they were both pleased on a professional level to be working on the biggest divorce case of the year, even if they were on the ‘wrong’ side, the wife’s side. But it was just the sort of challenge they both relished – and, as Christine reflected, it was her opportunity to wipe out all memories of the Rivelli fiasco and get back on course for silk. But it was welcome in another way too; it gave Christine and John yet another excuse to spend a great deal of time together without having to analyse too closely the reasons why. He was freshly widowed, she was divorced but not disentangled from Andy – of course neither of them was looking for any new romantic entanglement. This was just two old friends and colleagues working together in the way they knew best, the old team back together, with something to prove this time – yes, that was what put the fire in their bellies and the colour in their cheeks every time they met. It was like being young and hungry again. It was exciting.

They both kept an eye on developments in the Rivelli case, but now it was out of their hands. Police authorities in America, France and the UK were making their investigations, and Rivelli had gone to ground, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake. Will was out for the count in Los Angeles, hovering on the brink of death. Janet was camping out in the parts of her house that had not been damaged by fire, still claiming that it was an accident, presumably so scared of her ex-husband that she did not dare to mention the most obvious explanation. Victoria, who had somehow survived the crash that killed Leanne Miller, was out of Christine’s reach – and her due date was approaching. Isabelle’s future hung in the balance, seemingly ready to topple like a house of cards.

So why did Christine feel so positive about the future?

Victoria sat in her bedroom, her ears ringing, her eyes staring blindly at cracks in the ceiling.

Rivelli had tried to kill her.

The police had evidence.

Nothing she could say or do would change that, no amount of plotting or scheming would alter the fact that the hopes and fears of the last ten years had amounted to this, a botched attempt on her life by a man who cared for nothing and no one other than himself.

Well, two can play at that game. And so she’d talked – told them everything she knew or suspected, and when that wasn’t enough to satisfy her, she invented some more. By the time the police left, they had enough on Massimo Rivelli for several life sentences.