Maddy couldn’t see anything. Had she turned the lights off when Caroline left? And when had Caroline left, anyway? How long had she been asleep? Staggering to her feet, she felt her way round the obstacle course of the kitchen, stubbing her toes. Her mouth tasted foul. Her head still throbbed. She found the switch. Nothing.

‘Oh, bugger,’ Maddy groaned aloud. Talking to herself didn’t matter. There was no one to hear or censure. ‘A bloody power cut.’

Candles. She always had candles … She started scrabbling for the drawers and then remembered. She had always had candles; she just hadn’t replaced them after her dinner party. And she and Suzy had thrown the stubs out weeks ago when they’d had a cottage blitz. She shuddered. She was going to be alone. All night. In the dark.

‘Oh, well,’ she said with false bravado, ‘I can cope. I’ll just go to bed and sleep through it. After all, a storm is the least of my worries. I’ve still got to survive the rest of my life.’

She found little comfort in the pitch-dark cottage. Familiar objects seemed to loom up and bump into her, and every creak and groan sounded like someone testing the doors. Above the moaning of the wind and the roar of the rain no one would ever hear her screams.

She tugged off the shoes and the earrings in the dark, comforting herself with the thought that Luke and Suzy would be home soon. The power cut would surely fore- shorten the festivities, and the village would soon be teeming with drunken, noisy life.

She edged her way into the bedroom and groaned. The luminous hands on her alarm clock showed just past one, and she remembered Fran saying that Kimberley and Barty had installed a generator. As long as the marquee didn’t blow down, the party would rage until dawn as planned. She shivered. There was a long, dark night stretching ahead.

When the phone rang she screamed, then felt her way back into the hall. It was probably Fran making sure she was OK. Maddy’s palms were damp as she groped for the receiver. She didn’t care who it was; she was just desperate for the comfort of another human voice.

It was the one she least expected.

‘Is Charlie there?’ Drew’s voice was sharp with anxiety. He didn’t even say hello.

‘No. He’s at the reception.’

‘Is anyone there?’

‘I’m on my own.’

‘Shit.’ The phone was slammed down the other end.

Trembling more than ever, reacting to his voice, which was harsh and abrasive instead of gentle and loving, she punched out Peapods’ number. It rang for ages. Maybe he wasn’t even there. Maybe he’d been ringing from his mobile. Maybe Angie was snuggled up next to him …

‘Yes.’

‘Drew? Is anything wrong?’

‘Nothing you can help with. I’ve got a problem in the stables.’

‘Can I –?’