She walked round to the opposite side of the bed, dropped the towel and dived hurriedly under the sheets.

Patrick chuckled. ‘Jazz, I was after living with you for ten years. I’ve seen it all before.’

‘But you don’t live with me any more. We’re divorced, remember?’ She spoke grumpily, turning her back to him and making herself as comfortable as she could on the lumpy mattress.

‘Do you realise we’re in what this grand establishment refers to as the honeymoon suite? I pity any bride who begins married life in this bed,’ Patrick remarked.

‘It’s fine, really. Thank you for finding it. Have you got my mobile?’

‘Yes, it’s right there on top of the chest of drawers. And before you ask, yes, it is switched on.’

‘Thanks. I should call in but—’

‘I called Miles earlier. There was nothing urgent to report, but he said he’d speak to you tomorrow morning to bring you up to date.’

‘Which means they haven’t found David Millar yet.’

‘Who?’

‘Just a suspect who’s gone missing.’

‘Oh.’

They lay there in silence for a while.

‘Are you okay?’ Patrick asked eventually.

‘About what?’

‘Your daddy?’

Jazz sighed. ‘I can’t quite process the fact that he’s lying at death’s door, just a stone’s throw from here. I just have to believe he’ll pull through. Anything else . . . well . . . I just can’t go there.’

‘Ah, sweetheart, I know so well how close the two of you are.’

Jazz nodded, the lump that had been lodged in her throat since this morning threatening to burst.

She felt a hand on her arm. ‘Jazz, you have to believe he will pull through. If anybody can, he can. He’s fought through today now, hasn’t he? We know the first twenty-four hours are always the most critical.’

Jazz nodded, unable to speak.

‘You know whatever happens, I’ll be here for you if you need me.’

Jazz nodded, as the lump finally burst in her throat and the tears started to pour down her cheeks.

‘He can’t die, he can’t. I need him, and so does Mum. He’s being so brave, but I know he must be suffering terribly and that makes it worse.’

He kissed the top of her head. ‘I know, Jazz, I know.’

‘He’s only sixty-five, for God’s sake! He’s not old! What about all those ninety-year-olds who live on for years in old people’s homes? Why can’t that be him? As long as he’s alive, as long as Dad’s alive . . .’ She looked at Patrick. ‘He will live, won’t he?’ she asked desperately.

‘Course he will,’ Patrick soothed. Then he reached down and kissed her forehead, then her nose, and then her lips.

His arms wrapped around her and he kissed her with urgency. His hands went to her breasts and she did not stop them, suddenly as hungry for him as he was for her.

She could hear herself breathing heavily as he rolled on top of her, and the next moment he was inside her.