“So,” she said, as they finally approached the M4, “shall I call you Jas or Jasmine from now on?”

A tilt of a platinum-blond head, followed by “mm,” preceded “Either’s fine. It’s a cool name, don’t you think?”

They’d had this conversation before, several times, so Claudia dutifully said, “I do, and it suits you. I wish I’d thought of it when you were born.”

Jasmine glanced over at her mother, her big blue eyes sparkling with mischief. God, she was like her father. “Are you OK with Claud?” she asked cheekily.

Claudia wrinkled her nose. “Mum’s better, coming from you.”

Jasmine laughed and pointed to the red light they were approaching too fast.

As they came to a stop, Claudia’s breath caught on another rush of nerves as the reality of their flight descended over her again. To those traveling in the cars around them they must look so ordinary, so unremarkable in their blue station wagon with nothing on its roof, or sides, or anywhere else to alert anyone to what this two-year-old 3 Series was actually involved in.

“How come you’re so relaxed?” she asked as Jasmine continued downloading apps to her new phone.

Jasmine frowned as she considered the question. “Well, I thought one of us ought to be, and as you’re the responsible adult in the car I decided to leave all the negative stuff to you.”

“So kind.”

They both started as someone blasted a horn behind, urging them on, and at the same instant Jasmine’s new phone rang. Only one person had the number and to their relief they saw it was her.

“Hey, Nana,” Jasmine sang out as she clicked on, “we’re on our way. Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker so Mum can hear.”

“Have you left London yet?” Marcy, her grandmother, asked.

“We’re just about to join the M4. How’s everything on your end?”

“So far, so good. I’m at the flat and it’s even lovelier than the first time we saw it, probably because the sun’s shining and the shutters are open. Actually, we had some mail delivered this morning. A letter from the energy company confirming our new account, and another from the local authority about the council tax.”

“I’m guessing both were in your name?” Claudia asked.

“They were.”

Her mother didn’t have a new identity as such, she’d simply reverted to her maiden name—Kavanagh—which had been a straightforward enough process to arrange, enabling her to rent the flat with references provided by a nonexistent ex-employer. Luckily the new landlord hadn’t checked—why would he, when Marcy presented as the world’s most trustworthy individual—so all had gone through quite smoothly.

“Is our stuff there yet?” Jasmine wanted to know.