“It’s a dress rehearsal. If you go to bed now and spend the day there tomorrow you’ll have a fighting chance of being OK for the main event.”

“I know, I know, but I sound worse than I am. Let’s just go or we’ll make her late.”

With an exasperated sigh Claudia left her mother to wrap up warm while she dashed through to her craft room to fetch her bag. Finding it beneath the worktable, she checked her phone was inside and was about to leave when she came to a stop. She looked around, not sure why, for she hadn’t heard anything and everything seemed to be in its place. This wasn’t the first time, however, that she’d got the feeling recently that someone had been in here. Someone other than her mother or Jasmine. She hadn’t mentioned anything to either of them, she didn’t want to worry them, and she certainly didn’t want them thinking she was becoming paranoid again.

Her gaze quickly scanned the organized chaos, from bolts of fabric propped up in one corner, to trestle tables laden with projects in progress, along the walls full of pegboards, design sheets, and Post-it reminders, to the sewing-machine cases stacked into a floor-to-ceiling niche. It looked as it always did, the domain of someone who had more work than she could cope with.

Her phone buzzed with a text, and grabbing it from her bag she turned out the lights as she left the room.

Fingers crossed for the dress rehearsal. If you’re free after would love to take you all for a bite. D.

Smiling happily, she tapped a message back. That would be lovely if not too late. Will call when it’s over. C.

Since their evening at the Mermaid, a couple of weeks ago, they’d been texting each other regularly with last-minute suggestions for coffee, or a quick lunch, or maybe a drink at the end of the day. It was the most either of them could manage, given how busy they were, but she was happy to take things at this pace—and really looking forward to him sharing their box for the concert tomorrow night.

To her astonishment, as she dug her arms into her coat, she spotted Jasmine’s beloved Stradivarius on the refectory table. Grabbing it, she ran out to the car. “Forgotten something?” she asked, holding it up.

Lowering her window Jasmine said, “Anton tuned it today, so I’m using my old one tonight.”

“OK,” and dashing back inside she tucked it out of sight inside the coat cupboard and set about locking up.

Minutes later she was in the front seat of the Mini, but they’d got no farther than the end of the drive before Marcy said, “I’m really sorry, but I think I’ll have to sit this one out after all.”