‘You’re too hard on him,’ said Harry. ‘You’re not his father, you know.’

‘Don’t start all that again. He’s fucking useless most of the time. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m actually related to him.’

‘Like I said before, you don’t give him enough credit.’

‘Honestly, Harry, now’s not a good time to start telling me about Owen. You only see him once in a blue moon. I have to see him every day and manage him every day. We’ve got more important things to discuss.’

‘And, as I said, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,’ said Harry, and then, really just to pacify Dominic, added, ‘but I’ll keep a closer eye on her.’ He hid the smile that threatened to creep across his face and give him away. He fully intended to keep a closer eye on Steph, but maybe not in the way Dominic envisaged.

‘Just making sure we’re on the same page,’ replied Dominic.

Personally, Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the same book as Dominic, never mind on the same page, but he left without further retort.

‘You sure know how to pick them,’ said Dominic as Harry reached the door. Harry threw him a blank look. His brother elaborated. ‘First there was Elizabeth, who was always stirring up trouble, and now you’ve got yourself involved with someone else who could be doing the same thing.’

A rush of anger surged through Harry’s blood. ‘Fuck off,’ he snapped. ‘You know, I had hoped the apples had fallen a bit further from the tree, with all of us. Seems I was wrong about you.’ He went to leave, but stopped and added, ‘And, like I said before, leave Elizabeth out of this.’

Dominic looked amused. ‘Touchy. A bit too close to home, was it?’

‘Fuck off,’ said Harry again and left the room. He’d had a gutful of this place already. It brought nothing but disharmony and bad memories.

Chapter Seventeen

Two Years Earlier,
Kendalton Green Hotel, Kendalton, 1 September, 3.30 p.m.

‘So, let me get this right, you want to do this to see if your husband is cheating on you?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Elizabeth looked at the woman sitting opposite her in the foyer of Kendalton Green Hotel. She was probably in her late twenties, although she had the air of a much more experienced woman and had clearly been doing her job for a long time. Elizabeth didn’t like to use the word prostitute; it sounded coarse and common. She much preferred the term escort, and not just any escort, but a high-class escort. The agency she’d contacted had assured her they had someone perfect for what Elizabeth was looking for and had set up the meeting here at the hotel. ‘It’s Camilla, isn’t it?’ said Elizabeth.

‘That’s right.’