Twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside an exclusive boutique hotel, The Mansion. Owned by Arab money, sitting in acres of rich green fields, the place promised privacy and discretion to its select clientele. Benyamin parked up outside the reception and Mina climbed out. ‘See you in a bit. Good luck,’ he said and drove towards the car park.

Once in the hotel, Mina made her way to the bar and ordered a vodka and lemonade. The bartender, who had been waiting for her, handed her the lemonade minus the alcohol. She took the glass without argument – she knew he’d been paid to keep an eye on her – but she really could’ve used a drink right now. Her mind turned over the delicious idea and then put it aside. Since she’d started seeing Benyamin, falling off the wagon had become impossible.

She scanned the bar and saw Juliet waiting for her, every curve and bump of her friend’s body visible in the red dress that wrapped around her like a badly applied bandage, flashing slithers of bare skin. Juliet had always liked attention, irrespective of whom it came from. And it was usually the wrong kind.

Mina followed her to a deep alcove where two men were sitting on a sumptuous velvet chesterfield. They were deep in discussion. As they approached, Mina noticed that the first was distinguished and tall, and the other was doubled up in pain. Their conversation was over, and the tall man wiped his hand on a white napkin before offering it to Mina. ‘And you are…?’

‘Mina,’ she replied, averting her eyes from the bloodstains on the white cloth.

‘Andrzej Nowak, at your service,’ the man said, this time bowing as he spoke.

He reminded Mina of a stained-glass window saint, the kind she’d seen at the church Benyamin took her to last Christmas. His face was long and slim, his eyes piercing blue. But she’d heard enough about him to know that Andrzej Nowak was no angel. He liked his women, and he liked them like his liquor: cold, old and hardened. This was evident from the ladies at the other end of his table who were enjoying his hospitality and champagne as if at the last-chance saloon. For most of them, it probably was.

Nowak signalled to a passing waiter, who came running, almost tripping over a table as he did so. Service was fast at The Mansion, but the Pole was renowned for his generosity, making staff work harder to win his business. Rumour had it he had paid off one waiter’s student loans and had given his BMW to another. The staff fought over his business and he encouraged the competition. Courtesy had been missing from Nowak’s childhood and had become very important to him as an adult.