‘Wait a minute … do you really think …? Fucking hell, Steph. I thought we’d been through this.’ He pushed his clenched fist against his head in frustration. ‘I thought you got that it wasn’t about the money. It’s not enough to make me want to murder my own wife.’ He blanched at his own words, which sounded so harsh when he spoke them out loud. ‘Money is not my stimulator, which is why I’m usually living in France with none of the Sinclair trimmings.’ He moved a little closer to her. This time he did stroke her face. ‘You don’t have to be scared of me, Steph. If I didn’t already care about you after just a few days, I wouldn’t be here trying to convince you I’m not the bad guy and I have nothing to hide.’

‘I believe you but I’m sorry, I still can’t break client confidentiality.’ She took his hand from her face but held on to it. ‘Look, I just need a few days to finish what I’m doing. Maybe after I’m finished, we can see each other again – I mean, as in have some sort of relationship – but in the meantime we should perhaps put it on hold.’

He gave a snort of disbelief and snatched his hand away. ‘Is that your idea of a trade-off? I honestly don’t know what to say to that. I don’t think keeping secrets about something like this is a good basis for a relationship. And we’re going round in circles here. So no, that doesn’t work for me.’ He could feel his anger coming back. He needed to be away from Steph. He didn’t want her to witness his fury. ‘Look, you can keep the job for the week but I’ll be watching you. You stay out of my business, do you hear?’

She looked startled, nodded and went to speak.

Harry held up his hand. ‘Don’t say anything.’ He was only just managing to keep his anger at bay. He needed to get out of there. He turned and within a couple of strides was at the door. ‘You need to tread carefully. Not everyone is as concerned about your wellbeing as I am.’

Harry stormed his way down the two flights of stairs and across the hall into the family’s private living room. He was pleased to see it was empty – his mother was probably having supper over at Owen’s, as she usually did on a Sunday evening. Harry went over to the decanter on the stand, poured himself two fingers of whisky and drank it down neat. He gave a small gasping noise of satisfaction as he placed the empty glass on the tray and poured another. This one he took more time to savour as he went to stand at the patio doors overlooking the gardens.