The hands Amber used to attach her earrings had been the same hands that started the fire that killed her parents. Her eyes met his in the mirror; hers had once reflected the flames. She was no longer his wife or the mother of his child, but a cold-blooded killer living in his house.

He placed a kiss on the crown of her head to keep her suspicions of him at bay. He fought the urge to wipe the feel of her from his lips. Amber looked up at him in the mirror as she fixed the earrings he had bought her for their third wedding anniversary, smiled, and returned her gaze to her reflection.

‘You’re awfully dressed up for a takeaway,’ he said as he sat on the bed. She slipped her hands into a pair of black silk gloves. He was sure he spotted a cut or a scratch on her knuckle, and wondered how it got there.

‘Some men simply tell their wives that they look beautiful.’

‘You look beautiful,’ he said truthfully. Her appearance was breath-taking. It was what was in her eyes that seemed sour. ‘But seriously, why all the fuss? You’re only going next door.’

‘I’m celebrating,’ she replied.

‘Celebrating what?’

‘That’s for me to know,’ she replied as she applied red lipstick to her pout. ‘Check the bed.’

His phone was resting on top of his pillow. He snatched it up and checked the screen. No new messages from Neena.

‘Where did you find it?’

‘Down the side of the sofa.’

‘I checked there.’

‘There is a universal difference between a man and a woman looking for something. You should know that by now.’

She was lying, he was sure of it. He scanned through the phone for any traces of Neena. James wouldn’t text his personal phone, but he scanned for his name too. And then it hit him. If his phone had been found down the side of the sofa after it had been missing for three days, it would have run out of charge. The phone had 79 per cent battery.

‘Aren’t you going to thank me?’ she asked.

He looked up and met her eyes in the mirror.

‘Gosh, yes. Sorry. Thank you for finding it.’

She smiled with closed lips and looked back towards her reflection.

Amber knew something. She was a hard woman to read: she never diverted her eyes when she spoke, or said aloud her fears, but after years of being by her side, Richard had learned to spot the smallest flickers of truth in her eyes and the twitch of a reluctant muscle beneath her skin. If she knew something was going on between James and himself, he had to keep them apart.

‘You really do look beautiful,’ he said suddenly.

‘Thank you,’ she said without looking his way.

‘It’s a shame you’re not staying in tonight.’