‘It went well. The security system is fitted but she still insisted on paying for it.’

‘You can usually persuade people.’

‘She’s not short of money and she wouldn’t hear of you paying for it, so I didn’t waste my time.’

‘How did she look?’

‘Well. She fed everyone cake and coffee. She’s a seriously good cook, even tempted me to a piece.’

He smiled reminiscently. ‘Yeah. What sort of cake was it this time?’

‘Coffee cake.’ Donna waited a minute then changed the subject. ‘About finding somewhere to live, I’ve seen three houses now plus the one next door to Sophie. That’s undoubtedly the best, but we can’t buy it.’

‘Why can’t we?’

‘Because it’ll start the gossip going again. You’re trying to get Sophie off the hook, not impale her on it.’

‘I suppose so. Tell me about the other places, then.’

She summarised what she’d seen.

‘We’ll drive past them tomorrow. If I like where they are, I’ll go inside.’

But, he admitted to himself, the house next to Sophie’s was a pretty house and Chestnut Lane was a lovely street. He’d really liked the look of it and had been very taken by the huge horse chestnut trees dotted here and there. He’d spotted one in his garden, another in Sophie’s, their upper branches interwoven above the high wall that separated the properties.

It’d be nice to have a neighbour like her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to make friends with neighbours. He and Sophie might have a drink together occasionally, chat over the wall, use that old gate near the chestnut trees to visit one another.

She couldn’t write all the time, surely?

But would she want to make friends with him? He wasn’t at all sure of that, had never really made friends with a woman before, just seen them as wives and lovers.

The following day was the monthly lunch with her girlfriends. Sophie got ready, humming to herself, the first chapter of the book now sorted out. She loved these lunches, which made her feel young and carefree for an hour or two.

Her heart sank as she was followed to the cafe by two cars. She asked for a table out of sight of the street. The waiter looked at her and at the men standing on the pavement.

‘Aren’t you—?’

‘I’m just a customer meeting friends. If you can’t accommodate me in privacy, I’ll go elsewhere.’

‘OK, OK. Come through to the back room.’

He brought her friends to join her a few minutes later.

Soon after that a waitress showed the men who’d followed to a table nearby.

She stopped speaking in mid-sentence. Lisa and Ashley followed her gaze.

One of the men was Talbin. He made a flourishing gesture of greeting with one hand.

She didn’t respond in any way. ‘It’s the gutter press,’ she said. ‘They’re probably recording every word we say. Come back to my place. We’ll get some takeaways instead.’

She got the waitress to parcel up some food, paid for the bottled water they’d drunk and ran to her car.