Rachel grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly, then gives me a little shove in Martin’s direction as he gathers up his notebook and papers.

‘Martin, can we have a word?’ I say.

‘Not a great time, Tiffy,’ he says, with the air of a very important person who rarely has time for spontaneous meetings.

‘Martin, mate, either you step into this meeting room with us or we adopt my plan, which was kicking you in the balls right now in front of everyone,’ Rachel says.

A flash of fear crosses his face, and my anxiety evaporates. Look at him. He suspects we know now, so he’s back-peddling. Suddenly I can’t wait to hear what crap he comes up with.

Rachel herds him into the only free meeting room with a door and clicks it shut behind us. She leans back against it, arms folded.

‘What’s this about?’ Martin asks.

‘Why don’t you hazard a guess, Martin?’ I say. My voice comes out surprisingly light and pleasant.

‘I really have no idea,’ he blusters. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘If there is, how long will it be before Justin is informed of it?’ I ask.

Martin meets my gaze. He looks like a cornered cat.

‘I don’t know what you . . .’ he tries.

‘Justin told me. He’s fickle like that.’

Martin sags. ‘Look, I was trying to help you out,’ he says. ‘He got in touch about our flat back in February, saying he was helping you look for a place, and made a deal with us so we could offer you our spare room for five hundred a month.’

Back in February? Bloody hell.

‘How did he even know who you were?’

‘We’ve been friends on Facebook for ages. I think he added me when you guys first got serious – at the time I figured he was checking out the guys you work with, you know, the protective type. But I posted the ad about the flat on there and that’s how he got in touch.’

‘How much did he offer you?’

‘He said he’d pay the difference,’ Martin says. ‘Hana and I thought it was sweet of him.’

‘Oh, that’s Justin,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘And then when you didn’t take the room, he seemed so down. We’d got chatting when he popped around to discuss the arrangement, and then he asked if I could drop him a line every now and again, just letting him know how you are and what you’re up to so he doesn’t worry.’

‘And that didn’t strike you as, I don’t know, creepy?’ Rachel asks.

‘No!’ Martin shakes his head. ‘It didn’t seem creepy. And he wasn’t paying me or anything – the only time I took money from him was to get Tasha Chai-Latte to come and film, OK?’

‘You took money from him for stalking Tiffy?’ Rachel says, visibly swelling with rage.

Martin cringes.

‘Hang on.’ I hold my hands up. ‘Go back to the start. He asked you to let him know where I was every now and then. So that’s how he knew I’d be at that book launch in Shoreditch, and how he knew I’d be on the cruise ship?’

‘I suppose so,’ Martin says. He shifts back and forth on his feet like a child who needs the toilet, and I find myself starting to feel a little sorry for him, which I immediately quash because the only thing getting me through this conversation is rage.

‘And the trip to Wales for the shoot?’ I say.

Martin visibly starts to sweat. ‘I, ah, he rang me about that one after I texted him to say where you’d be . . .’

I twitch. It’s so creepy I want to go and shower immediately.

‘. . . and he asked about the guy you’d be bringing to help out with the modelling. I gave him the physical description you’d given me. He went all quiet, and sounded really upset. He told me how much he still loved you, and how he knew this guy and he was going to ruin everything . . .’

‘So you spent the whole weekend running interference.’

‘I thought I was helping!’

‘Well, you sucked at it anyway, because we sneaked off and made out in the kitchen at three in the morning so HA!’ I say.

‘In danger of losing the higher ground, there, Tiffy,’ Rachel says.

‘Right, right. So, you debriefed Justin when we got back?’

‘Yeah. He wasn’t that happy with how I’d handled things. Suddenly I felt really bad, you know? I hadn’t done enough.’

‘Oh, this man is good,’ Rachel says under her breath.

‘Anyway, then he wanted to plan this big proposal. It was all very romantic.’

‘Especially the part where he paid you to get Tasha Chai-Latte to film it,’ I say.

‘He said he wanted the whole world to see it!’ Martin protests.

‘He wanted Leon to see it. How much did that even cost? I should have known it couldn’t have come out of the book’s budget.’

‘Fifteen thousand,’ Martin says sheepishly. ‘And two for me for organising.’

‘Seventeen thousand pounds?!’ Rachel shrieks. ‘My God!’

‘And a bit leftover, so I got Katherin that limo, in case it would persuade her to do that interview with Piers Morgan. I just . . . figured Justin must really love you,’ Martin says.

‘No, you didn’t,’ I tell him flatly. ‘You didn’t really care. You just wanted Justin to like you. He has that effect on a lot of people. Has he contacted you since he proposed to me?’

Martin shakes his head, looking nervous. ‘I figured from the way you left the party that it hadn’t exactly gone as he’d hoped. Do you think he’ll be mad at me?’

‘Do I think . . .’ I take a deep breath. ‘Martin. I do not care if Justin is mad at you. Soon, I will be taking Justin to court for harassment or stalking, once my lawyer has got around to figuring out which of those she likes better.’

Martin goes even paler than he usually is, which is saying something. I’m surprised I can’t see the whiteboard through him.

‘So you’d be prepared to testify?’ I say briskly.

‘What? No!’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, it’s . . . this would be very embarrassing for me, and this is a really important time at work—’

‘You are a very weak man, Martin,’ I tell him.

He blinks. His lip shakes a little. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he says eventually.