His voice was still deep and intimate. Consoling, seductive. Jude wondered why she’d ever been fooled by it. Wondered why she had ever found it – or indeed him – attractive.

‘Yes, I have thought more about it,’ she replied coolly. ‘And I really wonder whether the area needs a place like that when we’ve got the Magic of Therapy Centre so close by.’

‘I see.’ His tone of voice changed instantly. The charm was still there but there was a harder edge. ‘What’s this about, Jude?’

‘I went to Smalting this morning. To the Magic of Therapy Centre.’

‘Oh?’

‘Saw your friend … colleague …? Dr Rawley.’

‘Ah.’

‘He diagnosed me with breast cancer.’ There was no response. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard from him yet. Because I assume you will be involved. In my treatment. At … what? Five hundred pounds a session?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I think you know what I’m talking about, Jeremiah. Bill Shefford. Do you deny that you treated Bill Shefford?’

‘Of course I don’t deny it.’

‘You never mentioned it in our conversations.’

‘And do you know why? Bill particularly didn’t want anyone to know he was ill. And if he had wanted people to know about it, there’s no way I would have told you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, come on, Jude. You, of all people, should know the answer to that. A fellow healer? You know about client confidentiality.’

That stung. But Jude riposted quickly. ‘Did you know that Bill Shefford kept a diary?’

‘You’re making that up. He wasn’t the kind to keep a diary.’

‘Well, he did, and I have it. Dates of all your sessions.’ That bit was true. ‘And detailed descriptions of what went on at those sessions, how he felt after those sessions, chronicles of his every mood swing.’ That bit wasn’t true.

Jeremiah seemed somehow to suspect as much. ‘You’re making this up, Jude.’

‘I am not.’ Time to pull out her trump card. ‘There wasn’t only Bill Shefford.’

‘Oh?’

‘There was also Jodie Flint.’

‘We need to meet,’ said Jeremiah brusquely.

‘I agree. Come to Woodside Cottage. Seven o’clock this evening.’

TWENTY-SIX

Jude knew the risk she was taking but her anger outweighed the fear.

It had already been dark a couple of hours by seven o’clock when, prompt to the minute, the doorbell rang. She was unsurprised to see that Jeremiah was accompanied by Dr Rawley.

‘Do come in. Sit down. Can I offer you anything?’

Both shook their heads as they sank into her rug-shrouded sofa.

The doctor spoke first. He seemed to be the senior partner in their business. ‘I did not expect to see you again so soon, Mrs Nicholls.’

‘Don’t call me “Mrs Nicholls”. Call me “Jude”.’

‘Very well. Jude … I gather from Jeremiah that you have been making accusations against us.’

‘Yes.’