‘Do you have proof?’

‘Yes.’

‘What kind?’

‘The damning kind.’

‘You’re being awfully mysterious.’

‘I’m good at keeping my cards to my chest until exactly the right moment. It’s got me this far.’

‘So, what are you going to do, if you’re not going to leave him?’

‘I’m going to clean up his mess for him.’

James frowned and eyed her face to a meticulous degree. His gaze fell where the bruise festered beneath her make-up.

‘What happened to your eye? It looks swollen.’

‘I’m trying a new mascara,’ she said quickly – too quickly. She had sounded like a child caught out in a lie. She pinched the inside of her thigh to harden herself again and forced a smile. ‘I must be allergic. I’ll throw it away when I get home.’

Amber checked her watch.

‘I need to head off.’

‘But I just got here.’

‘That will teach you for being late. We can talk more later. Are we still on for tonight?’

‘Of course. Come over about six. The takeaway will arrive by seven.’

‘I’ll bring the wine. See you at six.’

She kissed his cheek and left the café, just as James’ breakfast arrived. The entire time, she felt his eyes on her back watching her leave. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand and unlocked the car.

It was time to meet Neena.

THREE

Friday 24 November, 12:52

Amber watched her husband’s mistress enter the café from across the street, and eyed her through the window as she searched for Richard’s face. Amber noticed the slight deflation of her shoulders as she failed to spot him and watched as she sat down at a table at the back. Richard would have taught her not to pick a seat by the window, in case they were caught. It sounded exciting, but not as exciting as exacting one’s revenge.

Amber turned off the heating in the car, pulled down the sun visor and took the make-up wipes from her handbag. Swipe by swipe, she unveiled the pale pink of her lips and the faint lines at the outer corners of her eyes. She pulled the skin taught with her fingertips and wondered how long she would wait until she ditched the needles for scalpels. She wasn’t old enough for a face-lift. Perhaps a chemical peel instead. Every touch-up had to be subtle, so those who looked at her thought it was down to good fortune rather than a doctor’s hand.

The bruise framed her left eye socket and continued down to her cheekbone where small blood vessels had broken on the surface. Her pale complexion made the bruise look even riper, as though her rage was swelling out of her pores.