My big, burly boyfriend was a chip off the diamond that was his gangster father. I adored him because he was always there for me, keeping me safe from harm.

In the past he had appeared from nowhere to recover me when I got lost on the top of a remote a mountain range.

This time he rescued me from a claustrophobic university reunion in a crumby hotel. Afterwards, as we walked arm-in-arm along Euston Road, a man in a suit approached us and ushered us into the forecourt of the St Pancras Hotel. There the stranger transferred vials of liquid into various small plastic bottles into a handy bag that my boyfriend ‘just happened’ to have on him.

This was highly suspicious. I already had a feeling that my boyfriend was apprenticed to a Russian oligarch. Now I believed that I had the evidence to prove that his route to unlimited wealth was through drug dealing.