Tom Rickard sat on the edge of the bed tying his shoelaces.

‘Have I told you how beautiful you are?’ he said.

‘Only every five seconds in the last hour,’ the woman said, her long hair framing her face. ‘Tom, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.’

He sighed as she pulled the sheet up to her neck, her damp body seductively outlined beneath it and a silver chain hanging down one glistening shoulder.

‘Don’t say that.’ He turned and, leaning over, kissed her roughly on the lips.

She struggled to a sitting position, the sheet falling away to expose her flesh, warm and inviting. He wanted her again. Had he time?

‘It’s getting too difficult making up excuses,’ she said. ‘And some day someone is going to see us coming and going from here.’ She paused. ‘Tom, are you listening to me? Look at this place. How long can we keep this up? I hate it.’

He didn’t trust himself to speak. He picked up his jacket from the narrow wooden chair and slipped it over his creased purple shirt. He scanned the room, seeing it for what it was. An inadequate two-bar electric heater in a corner, peeling paint dripping from the damp ceiling and cracked floorboards which had, more than once, resulted in cut feet for both of them. His lust had conjured the room into a lovers’ paradise. The beautiful creature on the creaking bed deserved more than an ancient dormitory. But they were too well known to have their trysts in hotels. Definitely not now, with Melanie sniffing around him.

‘Can we discuss this another time?’ He sat back on the edge of the bed.

‘There’s no need to talk to me like I’m one of your junior employees. You can’t just schedule me in your appointments diary for a quickie and then bugger off to Mrs Versace Rickard. We shouldn’t even be in here, regardless of what we’re doing when we’re here.’ She slumped on to the damp pillow and closed her eyes.

‘Give me a while longer. I’m working things out. Honestly. We’ll make it work. Together.’

‘And how do you propose to do that? Get real, Tom. You are pathetic.’

‘You want out?’ he asked, horrified she might actually agree.

‘No. Yes. I don’t know. This isn’t right.’ She squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Soon, very soon. I’m nearly there. Don’t do anything rash. Not yet. Give me time.’

Her eyes flashed open and he shivered under the intensity of her gaze. Then she appeared to relent.

‘Give me a kiss and I’ll get dressed. We can leave together. This place turns my blood cold.’

He leaned over, ran his tongue along her shoulder, sucking on the chain in the curve, locked his mouth on hers and assaulted her with a violent kiss. A sharp scream escaped from her lips and he realised he had drawn blood from her mouth.

‘Why did you do that?’ she cried, pushing him away. She jumped out of the bed, pulled on her underwear. The smell of sex clung to her skin, musky, like yesterday’s perfume. ‘Sometimes I wonder about you,’ she spat, disgust lacing every word.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. The frustration of not being able to touch her last night at the ball bulged like a tumour inside him. He couldn’t get enough of her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.

‘So am I. I’m sorry I got involved in this sordid mess.’ She zipped up her dress. ‘I’m not so sure I want to be with you any longer.’

‘Don’t say that. I love you. We are meant for each other,’ he pleaded.

‘You see. That’s what I mean.’ She buttoned her cardigan, then her coat. ‘You can be so immature. I’ve been through this before. I’ve watched men crumble under the weight of affairs. And you’re turning out exactly like the rest.’

He watched her fasten the belt on her coat. When she laughed at him, it cut right through him. He stood with his mouth open.

‘Oh, come on now. You honestly don’t think this is my first time in this kind of situation. Grow up.’ She laughed once more, picked up her handbag and pulled it on to her shoulder. ‘You need to find another place for your regular shag. I’m never setting foot in here again.’

She banged the door. The windows rattled and he felt his heart shrink. Sitting down on the stained sheets, Tom Rickard shook his head. First Melanie losing it, now his lover. Add to the mix the financial mess he would be in if the St Angela’s project failed, plus Detective Inspector Lottie Parker with her bloodhound nose, and he wondered how things could possibly get any worse.

Then he started to laugh.

He had faced worse and had come out the other side. This time would be no different. He was a fixer and he would fix this.