“Oh, holy shit!”

Just inside the doorway, Nina stood with her hands on her hips. “Well, hey there,” she said with a smile. “You’re back.”

Emily gaped. Her handbag slipped off her shoulder and hit the floor with a thud. “Hi,” she said, too loudly.

Nina tilted her head. “You worried us this morning, motoring off like that. We thought there might have been some kind of emergency.”

“Oh. No. I just … went out.” She really is tall, Emily thought. And fit. She could probably run quite far and quite fast.

“Where did you go?”

Emily searched Nina’s face for … anything. Guilt. Panic. A big red “K” for “Kidnapper.” Then it dawned on her that she hadn’t thought to come up with a cover story. “I, er, went to the, er, supermarket,” she stammered. “I checked the storeroom and we were a bit low on, y’know, stuff. And I was up early anyway so I thought…” She trailed off, realizing only too late how flimsy the lie was. There were no bags in the back of the car, no shopping, no receipt.

Nina’s eyes flickered to the door as if reading her thoughts. “Great idea,” she said, inching forward. “Can I help you unload?”

“Oh, well, no, because it was closed. The supermarket, I mean. I don’t know why.”

She found herself shaking. Come on, Emily. You’re an actress, aren’t you? So, ACT.

Taking a breath, she met Nina’s unblinking stare and held it. “There was a fire engine outside. They weren’t letting people in, so I went for a coffee, had a look around a nearby town. I hope you don’t mind. It’s been a while since I got off the property.”

“Oh, sure, it’s good to get out.” Nina nodded. “Just let me know next time, okay?”

“Okay.”

There was a pause, during which it occurred to Emily that Nina might be toying with her. Maybe Nina knew exactly where she’d been. Maybe that had been Yves outside the police station.

“Hey, listen.” Nina touched Emily on the elbow. “I meant to have a chat with you about yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Aurelia’s accident?”

Emily clapped a hand to her mouth. She’d completely forgotten. “Oh my god, Aurelia. How is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Just a scratch, really.” Nina gave a cheerful shrug. “You know how these head wounds can gush. No, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for losing my temper. It was totally uncalled for. I’d had a shocker of a day, and when I saw all that blood I just lost it.”

“That’s okay.” Emily’s voice came out high and wobbly.

“Well, it isn’t really. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh…” Emily batted the air awkwardly with her hand. “No worries, mate.”

They stood for a moment, both wearing their pantomime grins.

“Anyway,” said Nina. “Aurelia’s waiting for me by the pool. Lunch is almost ready, if you’d like to join us?”

“Yeah, great. I’ll just grab a quick shower.”

“See you down there.”

Nina moved first, stepping around Emily on her way to the door. Just shy of the threshold, she stopped and looked back, just a half turn. “And I meant to ask … how did you get out of the gate this morning?”

“Sorry?”

“We had a power cut overnight,” Nina said. “The system was down. Wasn’t the gate locked?”

“Oh…” Without exactly knowing why, Emily blushed. “Yeah. But I have a key.”

“Oh, right.” Nina nodded, contemplating the wallpaper. “You have a key. Of course.” Then, with the tiniest of smiles, she swept out the door and into the daylight.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

SCOTT

“AH, THERE you are,” Verity said, her heels tapping on the concrete mezzanine floor. “What are you doing up here?”

“Nothing,” Scott replied, tearing his eyes from the vista beyond the roof terrace: gray buildings, flat roofs, and a bulging blanket of cloud. “Just looking. Haven’t you gone for lunch yet? Or is it true that you survive on a diet of air and efficiency?”

“Ha ha.” Verity came to stand next to him and looked down over the wall. The cars slid up and down the road below. “I just thought I should tell you that Channel 4 called again, wanting to know if you’d changed your mind about being interviewed for that documentary.”

Scott snorted.

“That’s what I thought you’d say. I also wanted to show you this.” She passed him a glossy magazine, the first few pages peeled back. “You’re famous, apparently.”

Scott’s stomach lurched violently. Then he saw the picture. It was of three people standing on a red carpet. Two of them were startlingly beautiful, their arms around each other. The third was stooped, gray-faced, and haggard. I should have shaved, he thought, remembering how he’d caught a cab straight from work that day. He’d changed his clothes in the car.

Shrugging, he looked back at the buildings.

Verity shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t get to be all blasé this time.” She tapped the photograph with her finger. “This is you.”

“I guess so.”

“And do you realize who you’re standing with?”

Scott knew very well who it was. There probably wasn’t anyone on earth who didn’t know that woman’s face, or the face of her husband.

“What were you doing with them?” Verity gushed, her icy demeanor abandoned in the face of real celebrity. “What did you talk about? What are they like? Oh my god, I’m such a huge fan. When the hell was this?”

“Some benefit thing a few weeks back.” Scott sighed. He was an idiot. He should never have gone. “Some charity ball.”

“Oh yes, she’s very into her charities, isn’t she? Save the Children, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Speaking of which,” Verity said, tucking the magazine under her arm and passing him a piece of paper with a flourish.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s from the Phare Foundation. They’re giving you their top honor this year. The Lodestar Award.” She smiled. “Congratulations.”

Scott looked at the piece of paper.

Verity raised an eyebrow. “It’s quite a big deal, you know. Taylor Swift won it last year.”

“What did she do?”

“Gave a lot of money to victims of natural disasters.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. What did you do?”

“Oh, you know. Something similar.”

“For which cause?”

“I forget.”

“Interesting, because it says here that you’ve given ‘unprecedented amounts of money exclusively to charities and organizations specializing in the protection and welfare of children.’ In total, you’ve donated over…” Verity paused. “Wow. You kept that quiet.”

Scott cracked his knuckles. “Well, you know, the company has been on a roll. And I already have a boat, so…” He went back to the window, the darkening sky, and all the people scurrying around beneath it like vermin.

“You’re a really good man, Scott,” Verity said after a while.

He squirmed.

“I mean it,” she said, stepping closer to him. “You do so much to help others, and you never take any credit. You’ve helped me so much, and you don’t even realize it.”

“Please,” he said, recoiling. He was not a good man. A bit of money thrown at a few charities would never change that.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you properly.”

Scott was suddenly short of breath. He didn’t deserve any thanks. He was a coward, a failure, the oldest cliché in the book. No better than his fucked-up father.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

“You gave me a chance when no one else would,” Verity continued, clearly warming up to a speech. “You helped me get back on my feet. You saved me.”

“Please,” Scott said again. “There’s no need.” He reached into his pocket. Pins and needles ran up and down his arm. He stepped away and Verity stiffened.

“What is it?” she said.

He was being ungracious, he knew that, but he couldn’t breathe. He had to get out of the room immediately. His phone felt like a burning hot ember in his palm, searing through his flesh.

“Excuse me, I have to, uh…” He ran down the stairs and into his office, shutting the door and flipping the smart-glass switch. When the wall was fully opaque, he pulled his phone out. There they were, trapped in a bubble, the words that he’d been so sure he would never see or hear.

She knows.

His heart stopped. His mouth went dry.

Then, another message, quick on the heels of the last.

She’s going to tell.

He fumbled with the phone, his palms slippery.

Don’t panic, he typed, we’ll pay her.

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, which supposedly meant that Nina was typing, but no message appeared. He imagined her in the basement, her fingers hovering over the keypad of the MacBook.

Moving on autopilot, he crossed the room in just three strides and grabbed the whiskey decanter and a crystal tumbler from the middle shelf of the cabinet. He poured a large measure and tossed it back.

When after several minutes she still hadn’t responded, he tried again. Sit tight. Don’t do anything. I’m coming.

Another pause. Another drink.

No, came Nina’s eventual reply. I’m sick of doing things your way. I’ll deal with it myself.