‘Thank you. I know them,’ said Grace weakly.

She was stunned. The whole thing must be a mistake. Lawrence was autocratic, controlling, and yes, manipulative, but these were tools he used against his ‘opponents’. His competitors, business rivals or investors; the people he charmed and persuaded to part with whatever it was he was after – money, a deal, a property or possessions. He simply couldn’t put Grace’s flat on the market without discussing it with her. She owned it. It was her superannuation. Just as her mother considered her beach house her life insurance, so Grace had always known she – and more importantly, Daisy – had the safety net of the Paddington flat.

Her heart beating wildly, she hailed another taxi and gave the driver an address in the city. Lawrence’s office.

It was a plain brick building in a quieter part of town near the harbour. She glanced at the small hotel opposite, then she strode through the reception area, got in the lift and pushed the button for the third floor. There were several suites with neat plaques or signs announcing business names. She went through a set of double glass doors to Suite 702, not bothering to knock.

Lawrence was at his desk on his phone and looked up in surprise before signalling that he’d just be a minute.

Grace took a deep breath and glanced around. She’d come here when he’d first rented the space rather than work in his spacious office at home. He’d said their house was too far away and he couldn’t meet with his clients easily.

The office was well set up with an espresso machine and a small bar fridge, a filing cabinet and some reference books. But what surprised her was the display of some of his antique silverware pieces. So they’d been salvaged from the wreckage of their home, she noted rather bitterly. They’d even apparently been cleaned and restored after the fire.

Then it suddenly hit her as she noticed the folded blanket and a pillow on the plush couch, the toiletries bag and some magazines, that Lawrence had been sleeping here. He’d once mentioned that there was a shower in the amenities room down the hall. She felt her anger mount as she wondered why he’d told her he’d been staying at a hotel.

‘This is a nice surprise. What’s up?’ Lawrence came around from his desk.

‘I’ve had something of a surprise too,’ she snapped.

He perched on the edge of his desk, folded his arms, and waited.

‘I’ve just been to my flat in Paddington. There is a For Sale sign out the front. For my flat! That my grandmother left me. What the hell, Lawrence? It’s mine, you can’t sell it. And you didn’t ask me or say anything about it.’ Grace tried hard to still the quiver of rage she could hear in her voice. She knew she needed to try to stay calm. ‘I’ve rung the agent and told him it’s not for sale,’ she added brusquely.