Kerry dinged an old-fashioned bell stationed on top of the reception desk to attract attention.

Nothing.

“He can’t be here at the moment,” I said, noting my sudden frisson of disappointment.

“But I’m sure he wouldn’t leave the door to his office open when he goes out,” disagreed Kerry. “Not when he must have his expensive photography equipment lying around. Come on.”

I blinked at her as she made her way past the reception desk and down towards a couple of closed doors on the right. “What are you doing?”

“Well, he must be here. He’s probably on his mobile or has headphones on.”

I pursed my lips. “You know what I said about you needing to channel more of your investigative journalism streak?”

“Yep?”

“I wish you’d forgotten that particular piece of advice.”

She gave a small smile and headed towards the first door. She knocked on it. There was no reply.

“I don’t think he’s here,” I said again, trying not to acknowledge my growing disappointment.

Kerry stopped in front of me with a swish of her A-line 50s-style skirt. “Listen.” She put one finger to her mouth. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Talking. It’s coming from inside this room.”

Sure enough, I was now able to snatches of conversation coming from the other side of the door. It was Flynn.

Kerry knocked on the door but there was no reply, though we could still hear a chorus of conversation taking place inside the room.

She suddenly appeared hesitant as she hovered there. “I just want to get this over with,” she muttered. “I know I’ve made a mess of things and implicated you and I want to get it all sorted out. Put things right.”

When there was no response to another of her sharp, insistent knocks, Kerry steeled herself and reached for the brass door handle. “Mr Talbot? It’s Kerry Wicks here, from Goddess magazine. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to talk to you.” She pushed the door wider. “It’s about Leonie and the identity of Chandler—” Kerry’s voice withered.

She stopped dead in front of me, her brown silky straight hair swishing down her back.

“Kerry? What is it?”

I stepped past her. Now it was my turn to draw to an abrupt halt.

In front of me was Flynn, but in his arms was a young woman draped in a trailing piece of lime-green tulle and nothing else – and they were having an in-depth conversation.

She flicked her wild strawberry-blonde hair back as she laughed at something he was saying. Flynn gave her one of his firework-inducing grins.

Sensing movement, Flynn swung round to look at Kerry and me. I thought his stubbled jaw was about to bounce off the floor.

My heart twisted in on itself.

I turned away, my chest heaving. I wanted to get out of there.