Everyone knows who he is; he doesn’t need a surname.

‘Andy Kerridge?’ asks the receptionist, disproving my point. She must be new.

I smile and nod. ‘Please.’

‘I certainly saw him earlier,’ she says. ‘Let me see if he’s still here.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, tapping my fingers on the marble countertop.

‘Who shall I say is looking for him?’ she asks, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand.

I hesitate, suddenly conscious of leaving a trail that witnesses will be able to attest to later. This is ridiculous. I’m a victim, not a suspect.

‘Can you just tell him it’s Naomi.’

She looks at me waiting for more, clearly worried that it won’t be enough. I offer her a tight smile to let her know it is.

I loiter around the potted palm trees, trying to blend in so no one will remember me if asked. Though my cover is blown when Andy strides across the polished stone floor with his arms aloft, shouting, ‘Darling!’

I fall into his open embrace and kiss him on each cheek.

‘I haven’t seen you in ages,’ he says. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good,’ I lie. ‘How are things with you?’

‘Well, Lance is driving me insane,’ he says. ‘But when isn’t he?’

I smile, remembering the warm rapport he shares with his boyfriend, even though he likes to pretend he doesn’t.

‘Listen, I wonder if you could help me out?’

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Anything for my favourite former employee turned superstar psychotherapist.’

‘It’s actually a bit sensitive,’ I say, leading him gently by the elbow out of earshot of anyone else.

‘In-triguing,’ he muses with a widening of the eyes. ‘Tell me more.’

‘Well, a few days ago, one of my clients came here, was supposed to check in, but hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Oh no!’ says Andy.

‘I know he was here,’ I say, wondering how much I should share. ‘Because I met him in the bar to make sure he was OK.’ I’m in it now.

Andy nods thoughtfully. I give him a few seconds to hopefully come up with the suggestion before I have to spell it out.

‘So you left him in the bar and he was fine?’

I nod. ‘I could just really do with knowing where he went afterwards.’

‘We’ll look on the CCTV,’ he announces.

‘Could we?’ I ask gratefully. ‘Does it cover the lobby?’

He nods excitedly, thrilled by the opportunity to play Columbo. ‘It covers the bar as well.’

My heart lurches, wondering what angle it captures, knowing that it could make all the difference in portraying what happened between Jacob and me as either an unrequited advance or the spark of sexual chemistry.

‘Come this way,’ he says, beckoning me over to the Staff Only door I used to go through at the start of my shift.