The first bullet entered the body of my ex-girlfriend - gorgeous, slightly-famous Lily - two inches beneath her left breast. We were sitting at a table in Le Corbusier, Frith Street, Soho. As the first bullet went into her, I turned to look at the gunman. Wearing Day-Glo Lycra, a helmet, mirror shades and a pollution-mask - just like a bike courier - he had a black and silver gun in his hand. And he was shooting the woman I still loved ...