‘Um… I don’t have a mother,’ he said cautiously and the anger exploded even more.

‘Of course you don’t. I wasn’t talking about you. I was just grouping you.’

‘Categorising me?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what was going on. Her anger was palpable and he needed to break through it in order to get some… Well, some order.

‘Who’s Peta?’ he asked.

‘Me.’ She glowered.

‘You’re Peta? Hi. I’m Marcus.’

She wasn’t about to be distracted.

‘I can do without the introductions. I haven’t finished being angry yet.’

His eyebrows hiked. ‘I’m sorry. But… Peta?’

‘My dad wanted a boy,’ she snapped, recovering momentum. ‘And will you be quiet when I’m letting off steam? You and Charles and Attila the Hun in there, you judge. You think just because I’m not wearing an Armani suit-yeah, I can tell it’s Armani, I’m not stupid, no matter how patronising you sound-that I don’t matter. I’ll never get to see Charles. I’ve used the last of my money to care for and bury Hattie, and if I don’t get to see him…’ She gave a deep, raspy breath, the pain and the shock of the last few minutes finally surfacing to the point where they couldn’t be hidden.

She’d been using her anger as a barrier, Marcus realised, and it wasn’t working. Whatever was behind was breaking through.

‘This is stupid,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t give a toss, and anyway, you’ll have a secretary like Attila in there, and even if I threaten to sue the pants off you, you’ll just turn to your secretary and say fix it. Keep her away from me…’

‘I wouldn’t…’

But of course he would.

‘Mr Benson?’ a voice said behind them and it was Ruby. His cool, unflappable assistant to whom he handed life’s problems. Life’s hiccups. The personal stuff. ‘Is there a problem, Mr Benson?’ Ruby said smoothly. ‘How can I help?’