Kerry parked her little white Nexus in a vacant space on a side street that sported an old-fashioned barber’s sign and an expensive soft-furnishings shop. “Are you feeling ok?” She angled herself round in her driver’s seat to look across at me.

“I’m fine, thanks. Just a bit sore.” In truth, my insides were like water, but I disguised it. I wanted to clear the air with Flynn and let him know in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t the deceitful person he believed me to be.

Then I would whirl on my heels and leave – or at least, what was left of them after Seth Gordon tore the heel from my right boot.

“I’ll come up with you, say my piece, and then leave you two to have your heart-to-heart while I wait in the car,” insisted Kerry. “Give you both some privacy.”

I chewed my lip. “We won’t need any privacy.”

Kerry pulled a sceptical expression.

I threw my hands about in an odd, flapping motion. When I realised what I was doing, I stopped. “Once we’ve explained what really happened and that he shouldn’t have been so quick to jump to conclusions, we’ll go.”

Kerry considered this. “He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?”

“I suppose he is.”

She rolled her eyes up to her car roof. “So, if you aren’t bothered about Flynn Talbot, why are you so keen for him to know the truth?”

I shifted in the passenger seat as the barber’s canopy opposite us rippled in the wind. “Because I’m a journalist and… and… ethics are important to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kerry stifled a knowing smile. “Come on. I’ve got some explaining to do.”

Flynn’s studio shared a suite of office space with other businesses which included a dog behaviourist and a cosmetic surgeon.

Flynn’s studio was located at the far end, behind a big black gloss-painted door. A frosted plaque beside it proclaimed Kaleidoscope Photography – Flynn Talbot.

Kerry glanced over her shoulder at me. “I’m so sorry, Leonie, for all of this. I’ve cocked up big time.”

“Well, now’s your chance to make it right.”

She pushed open the door.

We were confronted by an open-plan space with a glass-panelled reception that was currently unmanned, a cream carpet, and an eclectic mix of black and white photographs ranging from a couple of family portraits to a half-dressed model with coltish legs and a stormy lighthouse scene.

Tasteful strands of white and burgundy tinsel were looped around the picture frames and a set of gold lights were draped around a nearby alcove.

All the photographs were entrancing in their own individual way. Flynn’s studies of the model were especially haunting. She was gazing down the camera, her lips half-parted.

I turned around to see more pictures of a couple of other models he had taken. They were all hair and attitude.