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on their job and she couldn’t imagine this going down too well with the soft-spoken, knuckle-dented Welshman. Dovetail was the perfect man to coordinate their protection programme because he was utterly phlegmatic and no amount of gyronisers or mushroom tea or male nannies would ever disrupt his detached cool. Being fiercely patriotic, he had room only for one media personality and that was Catherine Zeta-Jones. The photo was of the three stars (because surely now Kennedy-Jack had become public property) on one of the Kensington Palace lawns. Stevie recognised the Romanian embassy in the background, with its mysteriously barred attic windows. The Hammer-Belles had undoubtedly befriended some of the lesser Windsors by now and they would want everyone to know it. Things like Windsors went down very well with Americans, especially in Hollywood.

Stevie shifted the armchair so that it faced the big dark window. The snow was still falling and, illuminated by the outdoor lights of the hotel, the flakes were a shower of sparks.

Stevie poured herself a little vodka. The salad, in its elaborate red-and-gold porcelain dish, looked appetising. She raised her fork and of course, the hotel phone rang.

It could only be Henning.

Stevie was disconcerted to find her first reaction was a flutter of nervousness.

It’s just Henning! she told herself firmly. She took a sip of vodka and picked up the receiver.

‘Rice here, Stevie. Where in God’s name are you?’

‘The Metropole—you just rang me here.’

‘I didn’t mean that. I mean what are you doing in Moscow?’

‘I’m on leave, like you ordered.’

‘And you need Constantine Dinov? What’s going on there, Stevie?’ Rice sounded furious and Stevie was glad there were miles between them.

‘A friend needed my help.’

‘Valery Kozkov is a friend of yours?’ There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his question.

How did he always know everything?

‘Henning. My friend Henning is close to Kozkov. I’m just giving the family some advice, nothing more.’

‘I hope you haven’t got up to your neck in Moscow just so you can avoid Joss Carey.’

Rice had found her tearing up in the corridor, two days after she’d found the primrose. He had known exactly why and immediately taken her to lunch in a dark pub where she could be as invisible as she liked. Stevie had been very grateful . . .

The photo in the papers that morning had ambushed her—Joss out clubbing with Norah Wolfe—and the two were described, in an accompanying piece celebrating the event, as ‘giggling like schoolyard crushes’.

Stevie was sure Joss had never giggled with her. Her heartache had been hard even for Stevie to hide.

‘I’m not trying to avoid anyone. I’m taking a holiday,’ she told Rice.

Rice on the other end was silent. His scepticism hummed down the line.

Stevie took another large sip of vodka. She had a sudden mental image of lipstick on a jam jar in Joss’ studio—why had she not suspected anything then?—and the way he had looked at Norah that night . . .

‘How are the Hammer-Belles?’ she asked as a way of changing the subject.

‘Actually, that’s why I’m ringing, not just to harass you.’ Stevie smiled. She liked the way David Rice always emphasised the first part of the word: har-–ass.

‘They are planning a trip to St Moritz. They want you with them.’

‘Oh no.’ Stevie put her glass down carefully on the table.

‘Afraid so.’

‘Can they be discouraged?’

‘Afraid not. They’re planning to attend some sort of society function up there.’

‘David, I really don’t know if I can take this on. When are they going?’

‘They’ve been vague on details. I’ll have the necessary information in the next day or so.’ He shuffled some papers, obviously still in the office. ‘And while you’re in Moscow, Analysis would like a security situation report from you—the word on the street, as they say.’

‘No problem. I’ll put something together.’

There was a pause in the conversation.

‘Stevie, I know why you asked for Dinov. I know Valery Kozkov’s daughter is missing.’

The words sank down the line like pebbles in a pond. How?!

‘I hope you’re not up to anything. It’s the