Pulling Layla closer towards her, she closed her eyes and the image of Sadie and Callum appeared, their faces slightly out of focus. How could she leave them here, without them knowing she had gone? And yet, it was the least rational of thoughts. Moscow was exactly where they already believed her to be. Instantly, her mind turned to Tom. How could he have let her go away like that, how could he sanction it, her spending seven months in another country with thousands of miles between her and her babies? Everything about this was wrong. The thought of leaving them here in England made her physically retch. What if there was an accident, what if the plane …

‘Are you OK?’ Ivan’s footsteps sped up behind her, and he laid a hand on her arm. ‘Are you sick?’

She flinched. ‘I don’t feel well. I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ she said, meaning every word.

‘Ssshh, you’re just anxious. It’s going to be wonderful. I have everything arranged. My mother is desperate to meet you, and sweet Layla …’

He ran a finger over their daughter’s hair and she shivered. Ivan’s mother. How had she never accounted for this moment?

‘I don’t have anything with me. My clothes, make-up …’ She fumbled for words. The fact was, she had hardly brought anything from home at all when she took up residence in Ivan’s house. She was used to travelling so much for her work, she told him, that she had got into the habit of not having many things; it was simpler that way.

‘Anything you need, we can buy when we get there. Believe me, you won’t want for anything, I’m going to look after you.’

He leaned in and kissed her forehead and she breathed deeply, absorbing the scent of him, reminding herself that this was Ivan. This was the man she loved. It was natural to be fearful, but everything would be fine. Letting her face press against his chest, the sound of his blood pounding against her ear, she said it again and again, imagining that if she said it enough, eventually she would believe her own words.

The flight took 270 minutes. She experienced every second like a countdown to her own execution.

By the time they landed, it was as though she had crossed into a parallel world, her mind numb, as if the shock had shut down certain parts of her brain.

The car that met them at Sheremetyevo airport was almost a carbon copy of the Range Rover 4x4 they had left back in London; blacked-out windows and smooth leather seats. Ivan, who mostly used a driver when travelling on business, barely used the car and it had become yet another thing of his that had become Gabriela’s by proxy, without him ever asking for anything in return. At least not verbally.