I opened my mouth to appeal to his better side – if he even had one – but he interrupted again. “And no, I can’t tell you who that client is. Confidentiality.”

Then he issued a sharp goodbye and ended the call.

I made a few more attempts to contact Flynn Talbot over the coming days, but he ignored my voicemail messages and emails to his photography site and to his Facebook account.

All went unanswered. He was like a phantom, vanishing into the ether to attend to his uber important photography clients.

My indignation bubbled. That just showed what sort of a man he was, if he could ignore the plight of a fragile, elderly woman, although Lily would no doubt be appalled at being described like that!

It was clear the Flynn Talbot I met was a self-centred, vacuous bell end.

Why wouldn’t he admit he knew something and talk to me? It was obvious he couldn’t be the same Flynn Talbot who wrote that love letter to Lily all those years ago, but did he know who the other Flynn Talbot was? If he did, he wasn’t prepared to say.

Was there something he didn’t want to face up to either?

It was the last week of November.

The Silver Ness Christmas lights switch-on had just taken place and the whole town was now a twinkling sea of illuminated snowflakes, stars, and reindeer. Every shop sparkled with lights and tinsel and the air was brimming with a combination of seaweed, woodsmoke, and building excitement.

It had now been a week since my phone exchange with Flynn Talbot and Kerry and I had our Lulu Stark interview on Friday afternoon.

Maintaining our discreet distance for fear of alerting colleagues, Kerry would happen to sidle up to me in the breakout area when it was empty and extoll her grateful thanks for my help.

Athena was no wiser, of course. If she found out that her niece had recruited me as her “wing woman”, her control freak streak wouldn’t have been able to compute it. No doubt her burgundy-coiffed head would have exploded.

Instead, I ensured that my electronic diary for that afternoon read: 2pm-4.30pm – Interview with Luna Newman, opera singer.

I did have an interview with Luna, a twenty-three-year-old opera diva in the making, about her beauty regime scheduled for the following month, so I wasn’t telling lies. I was just manipulating the truth a bit about when her interview was actually taking place…

Kerry and I slipped out of the Goddess offices within five minutes of each other and met in the car park, citing different reasons to our colleagues for both being out of the office at the same time – just in case there was any suspicion.

She jumped into the passenger side of my car and we set off, like two shamefaced schoolgirls caught skipping double maths.