‘So it is really about you.’

‘Toby, I’ve had a long day dealing with people’s emotional issues at work,’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to be at home. Can you just let me know if you can move your dates to be here for Molly’s birthday, and ideally bring her an interesting present from America that will make up for the boring birthday she’s about to have?’

There was another long pause in which Tara hoped Toby would say something. Something like, Yes, Tara, I will. And I’ll bring you something nice too, to make up for the last few birthdays we’ve missed. In an ideal world, he might even add, It would be lovely to spend a bit longer with you too, actually – can you get some time off so we can do a trip to Paris?

Toby said, ‘I’ll make some calls.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

It was the old pretend-annoyed tone they used to use as kids.

‘No, you’re welcome,’ said Tara. This could go on for hours. She’d missed it.

Toby laughed. ‘Night night, pizza face.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Although the repair work on Troutbridge village hall was powering ahead at a speed previously unknown in Longhampton building history, Keith’s absences from the site were becoming more frequent, and Tara had a sinking feeling she knew why.

He claimed that his personal involvement was required on the Turville Court hotel project; it was going to be a big job, he told Tara, with contracts potentially worth millions. This sounded plausible, but why shut down phone conversations about it whenever she approached? Maybe the developer was a woman – no reason why not – but Tara was pretty sure she’d heard her dad refer to his contact as ‘Steven’, and the two times she’d heard him talking in the garden, a noticeable distance away from the studio, he’d definitely been talking to someone called Niamh.

She’d never heard him mention a Niamh before. There was no one in the office with that name. No one he talked to like that, anyway, with his hands in his hair and a funny expression on his face.

Most suspicious of all, Turville Court was in Perryfield, twenty miles away. That definitely didn’t require an overnight stay the night before a meeting.

It could only be one thing. Some woman. Maybe even the one who’d replaced Sarah.

‘I’ve got an early morning meeting,’ Keith ‘explained’, when he asked Tara if Molly could sleep over the night before her birthday. ‘Couldn’t get everyone together any other day.’

‘A Saturday morning? Seriously?’

He shrugged. ‘Investors flying in and out – I don’t know the details, I just turn up when I’m told.’