Recognizing the voice instantly, Claudia swung around, her heart already pounding as the blood drained from her flushed cheeks. “Marcus,” she said faintly.

She’d known he was out of prison, and had struggled with the terror of him turning up here—and now here he was, all five foot eleven of him, with his boyish blond hair, large handsome face, and expensive clothes.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, his smile managing to exude both disdain and charm in the way she remembered so well. “I can’t believe you’re surprised to see me. You surely must have known I’d come.”

“Wh-what do you want?” she demanded, almost faint with remembered fear, with terror of what he might do now.

As Dan turned off the radio, Marcus regarded him with a baffled sort of condescension. “And who’s this?” he asked, as if Dan were unable to speak for himself. Then, “Oh, yes, the restorative justice chap we’ve been seeing on the news.” His smile crooked knowingly. “And here you are, cooking up something with my wife. We haven’t heard about that in the press.”

“What do you want?” Dan asked calmly.

Appearing astonished at the repeated question, then pleased, Marcus said, “Why don’t we sit down?” And without waiting for an answer he unbuttoned his coat and pulled out one of the dining chairs to make himself comfortable. “Nice place,” he commented, looking around. “I heard about the fire. Shame that. No sign of it now though.”

Swallowing dryly as all her worst nightmares crowded in on her, Claudia said, “Why are you here?”

He frowned as if considering his reply, and planting his elbows on the table, he said, “You might be thinking that I’ve come to collect what’s mine.” His eyebrows arched invitingly, as though expecting her to spell it out for him. When she didn’t, he said, “It was a lot of money, Rebecca. Oh sorry, I’m forgetting, it’s Claudia now, isn’t it?”

“It’s not even a fraction of what you took from me,” she reminded him, making herself sound stronger than she felt.

Dan said quietly, “Don’t engage with him, just let him state his case.”

Marcus laughed. “Good advice, Mr. Mediator. I’m not sure what she’s told you about me, but we were very much in love, you know, and I have to say nothing’s changed for me . . .”

“Marcus, stop it,” she muttered.

“Sorry,” he lamented. “I guess there are things you’d rather he didn’t know. It’s OK, I understand that, but—”

“Just come to the point of why you’re here,” Dan interrupted.

Marcus nodded, and seeing the old arrogance and self-confidence as assured as it had ever been, Claudia felt herself shrinking inside. Clearly prison hadn’t changed him, he still had that same sense of entitlement, as if he were some superior being whose right to exist excelled any other.