I watch as he blocks out a thirty-minute frame of time with his mouse and presses delete, before repeating the process again. ‘I’ll be here all day,’ he says, rolling his eyes.

‘So no sign of Leon anywhere?’ I ask again.

‘He was over by the stage the last time I saw him,’ says Tristan.

‘Thanks, I’ll try him there.’

I follow the gravel drive away from the main house, walking down through the copse before it opens onto the sprawling lawns of the concert site. There are people everywhere, carrying out tasks like a colony of worker ants, each with a specific job to complete.

Music is being intermittently blasted through the sound system and there is a palpable sense of anticipation, a mixture of excitement and tangible stress, but perhaps the latter is just emitting from Leon. He’s over by a speaker that’s almost as big as he is, gesticulating wildly to the group of men in front of him.

I take my time to approach, knowing that seeing me is most likely going to create even more tension in Leon’s already taut shoulders.

I’m proved right when his lips pull into a grimace, as if he has a bad taste in his mouth.

‘OK, I’ll come back and see how you’re getting on in an hour’s time,’ he says, walking away from the men and towards me.

‘How’s it all going?’ I ask earnestly; my attempt at an olive branch.

‘We’re getting there,’ he says. ‘Slowly but surely.’

‘It’s looking great.’

‘What’s up?’ he says, walking away with purpose. I guess he’s expecting me to follow him.

‘I don’t want to be arguing and fighting all the time,’ I say. ‘We’ve both got a lot on our plates and we should be supporting each other, not going out of our way to make things difficult.’

‘You’re doing that all by yourself,’ he says spitefully.

‘Look, I know that sometimes I frustrate you, especially where my work and clients are concerned, but I’m only ever trying to do my best by them. It shouldn’t come between us. They’re two very separate things.’

‘Except you continue to blur the lines,’ he says, striding so fast that I have to walk-run to keep up with him.

‘OK, so I admit that I might not always act in as professional a manner as you’d like, but it’s never done to hurt or upset you.’

He stops stock-still and turns to face me. ‘Isn’t it?’ he asks.

‘Of course not,’ I say, half laughing.

‘Well, if that was the case, you’d tell me exactly what’s going on at the flat then,’ he says.

My mouth dries up and I swallow the regret that I haven’t been honest with him. About the flat, about Jacob, about the police . . .

‘Leon, I—’