‘Don’t call him that. Your father’s taken him to the 9/11 Memorial Exhibition in Earl’s Court. They’ll be back later this afternoon.’

Meddie grimaces as she plugs her AirPod back in. ‘Gross. I bet he gets off on it.’

She’s probably right.

It takes me less than twenty minutes to run to the Glass House. It appears deserted – the blinds are down, and there are no signs of life. But I know Felix is in there: when I check the malware feed on my phone, I see he’s still active on his computer. Stacey’s staying with her friend in Exeter, so I know he’s on his own.

I ring the doorbell, but Felix doesn’t come to the door. I give it a few minutes, and try again.

Still nothing. I walk around the side of the house to Felix’s office. The blinds are down there, too, and even when I press my face to the glass and cup my hands around my eyes, it’s impossible to see inside.

I bang on the window. ‘Felix! I know you’re in there!’

No response.

‘We need to talk,’ I shout. ‘I’m not going anywhere till you open the door.’

This time, I hear movement and the scrape of his chair on the expensive bamboo flooring. I return to the front of the house, and, a few moments later, the heavy glass door opens.

Felix looks like he hasn’t bathed or slept in a week. He’s sporting at least two days’ worth of grey stubble, and he must have lost ten pounds since I saw him at the Hurlingham Club just seven days ago. The blades of his cheekbones are so sharp they could cut glass.

‘Why are you here?’ he asks wearily.

‘Take a wild guess.’

He sighs, and then steps back with an exaggerated flourish. ‘You know the way.’

I head upstairs to the kitchen. It looks exactly as you’d expect the kitchen of a man whose wife has left him to look, down to the pizza boxes littering the kitchen island and the plates and dirty coffee cups piled haphazardly in the sink.

I seat myself at one of the kitchen stools and put my bag on the counter, tamping down my anger and plastering a pleasant expression on my face. Regardless of my skin-crawling antipathy for the man, I have to focus on what I need from this encounter: Felix’s agreement to sell me the Glass House. Aside from the fact that it’s my house, it’s also the only way Stacey can be free of him.

‘Let’s make this easy,’ I say cordially. ‘I want this house. You need the money. What do I have to do to make it happen?’

Felix lets out a bark of laughter. ‘Jesus Christ. You don’t give up, do you?’