“We were both in Noosa for a conference,” said Patrick. “She’s a town planner, have I mentioned that? Anyway, I sat next to her at one of the sessions. It’s strange, because I felt like I was a bit insane then; I think I was still in shock over Colleen’s death, and Saskia seemed so sane. She was into bushwalking and she took me on these great long hikes through the national park. I hadn’t been doing any exercise and all of a sudden my heart was pumping, and I was getting air into my lungs, and looking at these stunning views made me feel like it was possible to be happy again.”

“Endorphins,” said Ellen. “We’ll have to do some walks this weekend.”

And when you’re pumped full of happy endorphins, I’ll tell you about the baby.

“Yeah, I’d like that. For a while there, Saskia and I were bushwalking every weekend, but then she got this problem with her leg. She couldn’t walk for hardly any distance without getting pain. It really affected her.”

“What was wrong with it?” said Ellen. There was something strangely familiar about this story. Had Patrick already told her about Saskia’s leg? She was sure she would have remembered. She’d carefully hoarded all the information he’d handed over about Saskia.

“Nobody could tell her. She went to doctor after doctor, physiotherapists, nobody could help her. One specialist suggested it was all in her mind, and Saskia was so angry she walked straight out.”

Ellen was aware of a strange slippery feeling of panic, as if she’d just remembered she’d forgotten to turn off the stove.

“Sometimes she had to bring a chair into the kitchen so she could sit down to cook dinner,” mused Patrick. “It changed her personality. She used to be so sporty. I tried to be sympathetic, but then I got so frustrated because there was nothing I could do about it. She thought I was losing patience with her, but I wasn’t. I felt for her, I did. It just frustrated the hell out of me because I couldn’t fix it. It reminded me of when Colleen was sick. That useless feeling. Like you’re losing a fight, and you can’t even take a swing.”

Patrick was distracted by the approach of the flight attendant. He twisted his head to look. “Should we have a drink? Except we’ll have to pay for it, so it doesn’t seem as decadent. That’s the problem with these cheap flights.”

It couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?

She nearly said it out loud, to test the possibility. “Huh! That’s funny, I have a client who has exactly the same problem.” Except she knew it wasn’t a coincidence, and she knew he would know it wasn’t.

Deborah.

What was her last name?

Deborah Vandenberg.

She could see Deborah Vandenberg’s face so clearly. She ran late for her very first appointment. She had seemed a little odd, a little shifty-looking, but then, many of her clients seemed odd and shifty at their first appointments. It was because they had never seen a hypnotherapist before and didn’t know what to expect. They kept looking about warily, as though they suspected someone was about to play a practical joke on them.

“I’ve had this pain in my leg,” she’d told Ellen, and ran her palm down the length of a long, slender blue-jeaned thigh.

She told Ellen that sometimes she had to sit down to cook dinner. She told her about a “smarmy doctor” who asked if she’d been experiencing any “stress” lately, and she’d been so furious at the implication that she could be imagining the pain that she’d walked out without saying another word.

Deborah was Saskia.

Saskia was Deborah.

All this time obsessing over Saskia and she’d already met her, she’d talked to her, she’d been in her house. She was tall and striking. Interesting-colored eyes. Hazel. Almost gold. Like a tiger’s eyes. (Ellen noticed eyes. It was because she’d been brought up in the shadow of her mother’s violet eyes.) Well dressed. Articulate. She would never, ever have picked her as a stalker. She had not had a definite picture in her head of Saskia, but she’d been imagining her as small, with squinty eyes, a scurrying insane little mouse of a person. (Why did she think tall people couldn’t be crazy? Because they looked like they ruled the world? Because she admired them and coveted their legs?)

She felt Patrick’s hand on her arm. “Ellen? Did you want a drink?”

The interesting thing was that she quite liked her. Deborah—Saskia. She’d enjoyed their sessions. Their chats. She’d admired her boots once, and Deborah—Saskia—had told her about how they were actually comfortable as well as beautiful, and Ellen had gone out and bought exactly the same pair, spending more money than she’d ever spent on shoes.

She was wearing those boots right now.

“No, I’m fine,” she said to Patrick, tucking her boots under her seat.

So did Saskia really need help with her leg? Or was that just an excuse? And what exactly was her objective? Did she just want to observe Ellen? (In the same way that Ellen would have quite liked to have secretly observed Jon’s new wife-to-be, the dental hygienist, except that she would never actually make an appointment, because she wasn’t that interested, and, more to the point, how embarrassing if someone found out.)

Patrick sighed and stretched out his legs.

“The best part of leaving Sydney is knowing that I don’t need to worry about Saskia suddenly turning up anywhere. I didn’t even bring my mobile phone. I gave Mum and Jack the number at the hotel and your mobile number. I hope that’s OK, I meant to ask you.”

“Of course it’s OK.” Oh, no, no, no.

“So that’s the last thing I’m going to say about that woman for the rest of the weekend. I’m not going to talk about her, I’m not going to think about her, I’m not going to see her. We are now entering a Saskia-free zone.”

Oh, God. Ellen tapped two fingers rhythmically against her forehead. If it wasn’t so awful it could nearly be funny. Or at least slightly amusing.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just remembered something. Something I meant to do before I left.”

She had told Deborah, or Saskia, exactly where they were going this weekend. She had even told her where they were staying.

She’d called her the other day on her mobile phone to ask if they could reschedule their Monday appointment. “I’m unexpectedly going away,” she’d told her. “For a long weekend to Noosa.”