She stared at him blankly. “If he has a wife and child, then it’s pretty cut and dried from where I’m standing.”

“She’s his ex-wife. They are divorced.”

“But she still turned up here, and he has a child with her. Was she there?”

Lucien shook his head. “No. She’s gone.”

Sophie looked at him steadily, waiting for more.

“She’s gone, Sophie. She dumped a three week old kid on Dylan and then shot through back to the rock she crawled from under.”

It was too ridiculous an idea for Sophie to process. “She left a three week old baby? For how long?”

Lucien nodded. “Forever. He’s all kinds of screwed.”

Sophie took the news in.

“Do you expect me to feel sorry for him?” she asked after a moment. “Because I don’t. For the baby maybe, but not for him.”

“I get that.”

Sophie shook her head, not convinced Lucien did get it. He’d left the house furious and returned almost ready to fight Dylan’s corner. Dylan, or Matthew, or whoever he was, was clearly a very accomplished liar, because Lucien didn’t suffer fools gladly.

Still she couldn’t find it within herself to be mad at Lucien for wavering. She’d watched him grow close to Dylan over the months, and it had warmed her to see those bonds of friendship.

Over their years together she’d watched him learn to open his heart, first of all to her, and then to Tilly, and over time he’d encompassed Kara in his circle of trust. Dylan had brought something new and unfamiliar to his life, a sense of brotherhood and friendship that he’d never before known as a grown man. It wounded her to think he was going to lose that, and it wounded her to think that Dylan wasn’t the man she’d honestly believed him to be.

She’d thought him a better man. A man worthy of Lucien’s trust, a man worthy of Kara’s love.

“I need to go home too,” she said gently. “I need to go back for Kara. The staff at the boutique are ready anyway, it’ll just mean bringing the handover forward a couple of weeks.” She’d already spoken briefly with Aida, their assistant manager, after Kara had left, and set the wheels in motion for her own early departure. Their flights were arranged, and Esther was packing Tilly's things up as they spoke. She knew Kara well enough to know that she wouldn’t go running to her family and friends for support when she arrived back in England. She’d try to shoulder her burden alone, most likely drowning her sorrows in the bottom of countless wine bottles. Sophie had been there herself, and she shuddered to think what might have become of her if Kara hadn’t come to her rescue with her unique blend of common sense, good humour and tough love.

“I’ll have to stay on here, for a couple of weeks at least,” Lucien said, disgruntled but resigned. He accepted immediately that Sophie needed to be there for her friend. For their friend. “There’s no way Dylan’s in any position to come into work.”

“Do we still even call him Dylan?”

Lucien studied her face. “He’s still the same man, Sophie,” he said, and the despondent expression in his eyes sliced through her heart. “Sometimes good people do bad things for good reasons.”

She stared at him for a long time. “And do you think he had good reason?”

Lucien shrugged. “The jury’s out. Go home and take care of Kara. She’s the one who matters right now.”

Chapter Forty-Two

As it turned out, Kara hadn’t sought comfort in the bottom of a wine bottle. Not because she didn’t want a drink, but because she wanted one so much she feared that she’d drown her own lungs in alcohol if she let herself pour so much as a glass. She had previous form in heartache, after all, or somewhere on the scale, at least. When Richard had jilted her at the altar, she’d anaesthetised the pain and humiliation with liquor. She knew now that it didn’t really help. She’d thought at the time that she couldn’t possibly feel worse. She also knew now that she’d been very, very wrong.

Loving and losing Dylan Day made what Richard had put her through seem like a walk in the park.

The transition from loved to lonely had all happened so fast. Two weeks on and she was still reeling from the impact of that night on the beach, nurturing a glowing ball of pure hatred for the man who’d melted her heart and then stamped all over it.

He’d been so very, very lovely. How could it not have been real? Never for one second had she harboured even the tiniest of doubts, yet their entire time together had been nothing more than a fabrication.

Her emotions veered wildly between the raw, gaping misery of loss and fury hot enough to want him dead. How dare he? How fucking dare he? She’d lost any faith in her own ability to know the bottom from the top, he’d robbed her of her self respect and dignity right along with her heart. Twice already she’d looked up flight information to Ibiza, half certain that she wanted to go back and face him, to make him tell her what she’d done to deserve it. Had he been looking for someone to lay the con on and judged her gullible enough to be the one? Someone to warm his bed in the absence of his wife? But why go to all that trouble? He could have found any number of willing women on Ibiza without needing to woo or lie. He was the beautiful boss of a sex club - if anyone could get sex without trying, it was surely him.

Was it just the thrill of the chase that turned him on? Or did he get his kicks from lying, from watching her fall into his web of deceit?

All of these thoughts and many other, darker ones filled Kara’s brain on a loop until she held her head in her hands and cried, needing the haranguing voices to stop.

He was married. He was divorced. He had a child. The child wasn't his. The child was his. He'd lied about so many things that she had no clue which amongst them were the truth anymore.

She didn’t get up from the kitchen table when she heard Sophie’s key in the door, but she was relieved to hear it none the less, grateful always for her friend’s quiet, strong solidarity at her side.

Sophie came into the room, flicking the kettle on as she passed it, toting carrier bags from which she began to unpack fresh food. She unravelled the soft woollen scarf from her throat and wound it instead around Kara’s neck, ruffling her friend’s hair. She swiped the cold cup of coffee from Kara’s hands and replaced it with a fresh one for each of them.

“Did you sleep last night?”

Kara lifted one shoulder. “Some, I think.” She sipped the hot drink and sighed, pulling the folder on the table towards her and flipping it open.