Pity that other people weren’t so understanding or forgiving.

As we approached the glass-fronted entrance to Goddess, I handed Kerry the bag of Stardust beauty products.

“Can you have these couriered to Susie Calderwood straight away please? She’s expecting them.”

“Sure.”

I smiled at Kerry. “With us both working together, Mr Gordon won’t know what’s coming to him.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

“But I want to come with you,” pleaded Kerry, leaning against the Smeg office fridge that afternoon.

I shook my head. “I need you to work on getting hold of Rick Askew and to speak to that former employee who Seth Gordon was blaming for all of this. Simone Wales.”

Kerry looked concerned. “But what if it’s dangerous?”

“Seth Gordon will be far too preoccupied with his image and protecting his other showbiz clients to do anything stupid.”

She swirled around the tea in her mug. “I suppose you’re right.” She twitched her freckled nose. “But leave me details of where you’re going and what time you expect to be back.”

“Now you sound like my mum,” I teased.

She laughed. “Ok. I know when I’m not getting anywhere. I’ll get back onto Rick Askew’s PA and locate Simone Wales.”

“Thank you. Remember that being a journalist is often all about the basic ground work and tenacity.”

I returned to my desk, reading over again the email from dermatologist Susie Calderwood with her observations about the Stardust products. Then I printed off a copy to take with me.

A delighted and relieved smile broke across my face as I reflected on what I had just read and scribbled down the phone number and details of Lulu’s management. “You probably have these already, but here they are again.” I handed the post-it note to her. “I’ll take my car. I should be back about half four.”

Kerry stuck the post-it to the side of her PC screen. “Please be careful and good luck.”

Seth Gordon occupied a glitzy suite of offices on the other side of town.

They were sandblasted brick with a black and gold canopy at the grand entrance and horizontal Japanese-style blinds.

I was directed to the underground car parking area by a stern-faced concierge type in a sharp suit.

“I’m here to speak to Mr Seth Gordon,” I told him through the open driver side window of the car.

The man mountain glowered at me and vanished into his booth. “Your name isn’t down here to see him.”

“No, it’s a bit of an impromptu visit.” I picked up my phone from the passenger seat and brandished it in the air. “I work for Goddess magazine. I have a recording here on my phone that Mr Gordon will definitely want to hear.” I might have sounded confident and assured but inside, my stomach was turning to water.