My darling, my precious one,

I am writing this letter to you in the corner of the staff-room – can you imagine it? Beyond the window, there are whoops and screams from the girls on their lunchbreaks, and in here, in this room, there is the usual heavy Tuesday-afternoon dreariness. All around me, my colleagues are correcting essays, making lesson plans, eating their sandwiches, gossiping, none of them aware that I am writing to my lover. This page is slotted within a manila file so that I am ready to flip it over should anyone draw near. How adept I have become at the art of deception! That’s because of you, my love, and because of you I will maintain the deception for as long as necessary. I have given you my solemn promise.

Besides, I dare not write from home. Greg lingers in the house constantly. He has been watchful of me since the trial, hovering like a gnat, observing my every move. Sometimes I think I just won’t be able to stand it any longer. That I’ll have to leave him. But then I remember our plan, and all you have sacrificed. Above all else, we must not raise suspicion and draw attention to ourselves. I have caught him, at odd moments, looking at me in such a way that makes me think he must know – he must have worked it out, about us. The thought frightens me but at the same time I am thrilled by it too.

Leah’s heart kicks out with sudden fright. We must not raise suspicion. The words leap at her from the page. All this time, she had believed him when he told her of Charlotte’s flirtation, her drinking, her affairs. He had cast himself in the light of wronged husband, silently suffering through each indignity, every humiliation, and she had accepted this without ever questioning the truth of his account. And Hilary – her words return to Leah now. That day in the garden: what had she said? That Charlotte was a difficult woman, an outrageous flirt. And all the while it was Anton who was the faithless one.