‘Want a medal, do you?’ Jazz laughed bitterly. ‘Patrick, you are so full of shit, you ooze. Correct me if I’m wrong, but perhaps you signed for your own benefit too? So you could be free to make a new life with Chrissie?’

‘Want another?’ he indicated her glass.

‘Course not. I’m driving.’

‘I’ll drop you off.’

‘No. I need my car in the morning. What did Norton want, by the way? You said he needed to speak to me urgently.’

‘He didn’t. I was lying to have an excuse to see you.’

‘I’ll shoot Miles for telling you where I was,’ she muttered.

‘Don’t. I lied to him, too.’ Patrick’s hand reached across the table to rest on hers. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

She pulled it sharply away. ‘What? You mean your sixteen-year-old has given you the heave-ho and you’re lonely? Sorry.’ Jazz checked herself. ‘That’s sinking to your level and I’m ashamed of myself. Actually, apart from the fact she shagged my husband, I liked Chrissie. She was bright and a bloody good DC.’

‘If it makes you feel any better, she binned me a couple of months ago for a City trader fifteen years my junior and one hundred times wealthier. I’m on my tod now, so I am.’

Jazz forced a laugh. ‘If you want me to commiserate with you, I can’t. Obviously I’m thrilled and I hope you suffered terribly.’

‘I have. But not over her. Over the fact that I was such an eejit to risk losing you.’

‘Water off a duck’s back, I’m afraid. You always were good with the charm, Patrick. Your Irish heritage and all that. Unfortunately, it just doesn’t wash with me any more. Look, I really must go.’ Jazz stood up.

‘But we have things to talk about. I have your wages still sitting in our joint bank account. And your name on the deeds of our flat.’

‘Your flat now, Patrick. You bought me out, remember? Send a cheque and any papers for signature to my solicitor.’ He followed her outside, where flakes of snow were starting to fall heavily around them.

‘Hard to imagine you as a country yokel,’ Patrick joked as they walked to Jazz’s car. ‘You always thrived in the city.’

‘It’s amazing what you can get used to when you have to. Bye, Patrick. Safe journey back to the smoke.’ Jazz bent to get into the car but Patrick caught her and pulled her into his arms.

‘Jesus, I’ve missed you.’ His hand stroked her hair. ‘If you would ever even consider—’

Jazz pulled away abruptly. ‘No, Patrick, it’s over. Forever. Believe it.’ She climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door. She started the engine and drove off as fast as she could, without glancing back.

That night, unable to sleep, Jazz sat on the windowsill of her sitting room watching the snowflakes fall against the pane and settle thickly on the ground. The humiliation she’d felt when she’d finally discovered the truth about Patrick, and realising the whole department already knew, washed over her again.