My anger evaporates as I realize that this was, after all, what I signed up for—the only reason I’m able to afford One Folgate Street in the first place.

“This is the future, Jane,” he adds. “Health and well-being monitored by your domestic environment. If there were any major issues, Housekeeper would pick them up long before it occurred to you to see a doctor. These stats allow you to take control of your life.”

“What if people don’t want to be spied on?”

“They won’t be. We only have this specific data on you because we’re still in the beta stage. For future users, we’ll only ever see general trends, not data relating to individuals.” He stands up. “Work on it,” he says kindly. “See if you get used to it. If you can’t—well, that’s useful feedback too, and we’ll see how we can change the system to make it more acceptable. But everything I’ve learned tells me you’ll soon see how beneficial it is.”

THEN: EMMA

I’m staring at the notes I’ve made for my VPS, wondering how to begin, when my phone rings. I glance at the screen. Edward.

Hello, Emma. Did you get my message? He sounds amused, even cheerful.

What message?

The one I left at your office.

I’m not at work, I say. I’m at a police station.

Is everything all right?

Not really, I say. I glance down at my notes. DI Clarke told me to group the main points under some headings. WHAT HE DID. HOW I FELT AT THE TIME. THE EFFECT ON MY RELATIONSHIP. HOW I FEEL NOW. I stare at what I’ve written. Disgusted. Terrified. Ashamed. Dirty. Just words. Somehow I never imagined it would come to this.

It’s not really all right at all, I say.

Which police station?

West Hampstead.

I’ll be there in ten minutes.

The phone goes silent. And immediately I feel better, much better, because what I want more than anything else right now is for someone strong and decisive, someone like Edward, to come and pick up my life and rearrange all the pieces for me and somehow make everything work.

—

Emma. Oh, Emma, he says.

We’re in a café off West End Lane. I’ve been crying. Occasionally other people shoot us suspicious looks—Who is that girl? What has that man done to make her cry like that?—but Edward ignores them. One hand gently covers mine for reassurance.

It’s a terrible thing to say about something as horrible as this, but I feel special. Edward’s concern is totally different from Simon’s insecure fury.

Edward picks up the draft of my statement. May I? he asks. I nod and he reads it, frowning occasionally.

What was the message? I say.

Oh, that. Just a small gift. Well, two gifts actually.

He lifts a bag that’s been sitting beside him. On it is a big bold W logo.

For me? I say, amazed.

I was going to ask you to accompany me to something very tedious, so I thought the least I could do was to get you something to wear. But you won’t be in the mood now.

I reach into the bag and take out a clamshell case.

You can open it if you want, he says mildly.

Inside the case is a necklace. And not just any necklace. I’ve always wanted a pearl choker like Audrey Hepburn’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. And here it is. Not identical—there are three strings, not five, and no front cluster—but already I can see how it will fit around my neck like a collar, high and tight.

It’s beautiful, I say.

I reach for the larger box but he stops me. Perhaps not here.

What was the occasion? The one you were going to take me to?

Some architectural award ceremony. Very dull.

Have you won?

I believe so, yes.

I smile at him, suddenly happy. I’ll go home and change, I say.

I’ll come with you, he says. He gets to his feet and whispers in my ear, Because I know that as soon as I see you in that dress I’m going to want to fuck you in it.

NOW: JANE

I wake to find Edward gone. This must be what it’s like to have an affair with a married man, I think. The thought gives me some comfort. In France, for example, where people are more relaxed about these things, our relationship might be considered perfectly normal.

Mia, of course, is convinced it’s going to be another disaster; that he’ll never change, that anyone who’s managed to be so self-contained for so long can never be anything else. When I demur she tuts exasperatedly. “J, you have this schoolgirl fantasy that you’re going to be the one to melt his ice-cold heart. When the truth is, he’s simply going to break yours.”

But my heart has already been broken by Isabel, I reflect, and Edward’s irregular incursions into my life mean it’s easy not to let Mia realize just how serious it’s getting with him.