It was true that they shared chestnut hair and green eyes, but, as Aaron was quick to point out, ‘They’re really different personalities.’ He and Clancy had been flirting all week, sharing jokes about the pre-wedding hoopla, and after last night’s rehearsal dinner hosted by Aaron’s parents at De Silva House, the flirting had culminated in a long, deep, hot kiss in the dark reaches of the garden. Her body, wedged against his, had driven him crazy as she nibbled along his jawline. Then Lee had come looking for him with some annoying best-man task – there seemed to be thousands – and Clancy had made a silent-scream face, before whispering, ‘Tomorrow. After the wedding.’

Aaron could not wait for this wedding to be over …

A stir at the back of the church and the vicar in his white robes stepped forward expectantly. Finally! Aaron turned, his gaze filled with the sight of Clancy Moss walking up the aisle towards him, her dress of muted green flowing around her like water.

He began to smile … until, beside him, Lee made a strangled noise of distress. Then Aaron realised that everything about the picture Clancy made was wrong. She scurried instead of taking stately, bridesmaid steps. There was no bouquet. No bride. And no answering smile as she arrived breathlessly in front of the vicar.

She glanced at Aaron, before laying her hand on his brother’s arm, her voice shaking with emotion. ‘I’m sorry, Lee. I can’t find Alice. Her mum had left for the church and Alice and I both went to our rooms for last-minute things but … when I looked for her, her wedding dress was back on its hanger. And her car was gone.’

Aaron swung around to look at his brother.

And Lee crumbled right before his eyes.

Chapter One

Now

Clancy had driven for three hours and it felt like someone else’s hands on the steering wheel. Someone dream-driving her BMW away from London and the apartment in Chalk Farm she’d shared with Will. She hadn’t paused for a cup of coffee or a comfort break, not wanting to leave the car unattended. It was stuffed with her possessions and she’d lost so much she just couldn’t lose anything else.

Now she took a left from the A149 at the sign for Nelson’s Bar, which might sound like a pub but was named for Horatio, Lord Nelson, born along the coast in Burnham Thorpe. The bar of land on which the village stood bisected the salt marshes as it thrust out to sea.

The car purred through a belt of pinewood, the land rising like a ski slope until she burst out into sunlight, feeling for an instant as if all she could see was blue sky. Then the road plunged and cornered between two hedgerows. And she was there.

She drew up at the side of Long Lane and switched off the engine. Silence. Through a smeared windscreen she gazed at the homes peeping at her over hedges clothed in early summer green.