She stared at him. How much had he drunk? His expression was set, his eyes steely. With sudden intuition, she knew whatever he was going to tell her it was bad. He didn’t seem in any hurry, but she wanted it over. ‘I met Stuart Mercer today,’ she said. ‘In fact, it was him I was going to meet on Friday.’

His eyebrow rose at that. ‘I’d assumed it was Amelia.’

‘No, Stuart. He’d asked to meet me then, and again this morning. So, I went.’ She walked to the bed, her hand moving automatically to test the mattress. ‘Comfortable,’ she said before turning and sitting on it. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been suspended, Jack? Why did I have to hear it from him?’

‘You know, I never liked Stuart,’ Jack said, ‘he always was a smug bastard.’ He finished the whisky and put the glass down with a clatter that told her he’d had quite a bit to drink. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. It’s a storm in a teacup. It’ll be sorted.’

‘Stuart said it’s been over a week.’

‘These things take time.’

If he was going to keep speaking in clichés they weren’t going to get anywhere. ‘Tell me what’s going on,’ she said, trying to keep the note of pleading from her voice. ‘Why did you bring me here?’

He waved both arms around the room. ‘Isn’t it nice? I thought you’d like to get out of the house for a while. We can go for dinner, maybe pay a visit to the casino.’

She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. ‘What? You brought me here to have fun? I told you how badly I felt, Jack. I only came because I thought you were going to…’ She wanted to say confess but thought better of it. ‘Stuart has heard rumours, he said you might be gambling.’ She saw Jack’s lips tighten.

‘Stuart said, Stuart said,’ he mimicked before standing and moving to a console that held an array of bottles. ‘You don’t want whisky, how about I make you a non-alcoholic cocktail?’

She didn’t want one. She didn’t want anything except to know what was going on. ‘Jack–’

His back was to her. ‘Have a damn drink,’ he said quietly without turning around. ‘We’ll have a drink together, then we can talk.’

Once more, it seemed as if she didn’t have a choice. ‘Fine.’

‘Pineapple juice,’ he said, pouring some into a glass. ‘A splash of lime juice and fill it to the brim with tonic water.’ He spooned some half-melted ice cubes in and stirred before turning and handing it to her.

He poured whisky into a glass for himself. A very large measure, she noted, frowning.