She’d never been anywhere like this before; it was heaving with people, most of whom appeared to be laughing uproariously, the noise level deafening. Numerous neon arrows in garish colours pointed towards the far side of the lobby where a rainbow of flashing lights arching over a door advertised the casino entrance. In case anyone was in any doubt, the word itself was written in strobe lighting on each side of the double doors.

Standing with her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes scanned the raucous mass of people that stood between her and the reception desk. Going through them wasn’t an option. Instead, she took the longer route, sliding around the side of the room.

Reaching the desk, she leaned against it.

A tall, dark-haired woman with striking cheekbones smiled at her. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for Jack Chatwell.’

‘Ah, yes, Mr Chatwell,’ the receptionist said as if the name was well known to her. ‘Is he expecting you?’

‘Yes.’

The receptionist checked her computer and immediately dialled a number. ‘There’s someone here to see you, Mr Chatwell.’

Molly wanted to point out that she wasn’t someone, she was his wife. But the woman’s smile was friendly and her eyes kind, so Molly kept quiet and waited.

‘He asked if you’d go up. Room 353, third floor. The lift is behind you.’

With a nod of thanks, Molly turned, waited while a very loud group of women crossed in front of her, and made her way to the lift.

There was a second, standing outside room 353, when she didn’t want to knock, didn’t want to find out the truth. She knew it was going to come with pain. But there wasn’t much point putting it off, it was going to come whether she liked it or not.

Jack answered the door on the first knock, reaching for her and pulling her inside. He’d obviously forgotten about her ribs, his arms squeezing far too tightly and making her cry out.

‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling back to look at her, concern in his eyes. ‘I forgot. I’ve hurt you.’

She pushed his hands away and walked further into the room, her eyes widening when she saw its size. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said, ‘this must be costing a fortune.’

Instead of answering, he strode to a seat by the window and picked up a drink. ‘Have a whisky,’ he said, taking a sip.

She shook her head. ‘I’m driving. I didn’t want to travel by tube, and you know how impossible it is to get a taxi at this time of night.’

‘Of course,’ he said, swirling his drink before raising it to his lips.