‘Thank you, Charles. Yes, I’m home, safe and sound. I’m just waiting now for Marina to call, that’s if she does. I think it would be better to let her call me rather than the other way round. I really don’t want to annoy her.’

‘I’m sure she’ll call you,’ Charles said, but he didn’t sound too convincing.

And she didn’t.

I had a restless night alone in the marital bed, waking often and having difficulty each time getting back to sleep. Finally, at half past five, I went downstairs to make myself a coffee.

Rosie was lying on her bed beside the Aga. She opened one eye and watched me, but wisely decided it was far too early to actually get up.

In spite of having passed the vernal equinox, the mornings were still cold, and I relished being able to warm both my hands on my coffee cup.

Sensation had been the last thing to return to my new left hand and, one afternoon in my first post-transplant winter, I had suffered from chilblains on my new fingers simply because I hadn’t realised they were getting so cold. My surgeon wasn’t very happy with me, but at least the lack of feeling meant that I hadn’t suffered from the pain and itching as a result.

For no particular reason, I flicked on the television in the kitchen to watch the early-morning news and I was stunned by the top story—a racehorse stable fire in Middleham, North Yorkshire, had killed a number of horses.

A reporter in a bright red anorak was shown at the scene, standing in front of several fire engines, their blue lights still flashing brightly in the early-morning twilight. ‘According to one eyewitness,’ he said into camera, ‘the fire broke out shortly after midnight in a barn used to store hay. Many of the horses have been saved, but I am informed by the senior police officer present that there have sadly been some equine fatalities. The police are also seriously concerned about the whereabouts of the trainer, who was last seen re-entering the burning building in a further attempt to lead his horses to safety. The cause of the fire is, as yet, unknown. Now back to the studio.’

The reporter hadn’t mentioned the name of the trainer, but I knew who it would be.

Gary Bremner.

I daren’t leave the horses … because someone will bloody kill them …

And, it seemed, they might have killed him too.

CHAPTER

3

MARINA FINALLY CALLED me just after seven thirty, my time.

‘Are you awake?’

‘Of course I am, I’ve been up since half past five. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Oh.’ If anything, she seemed disappointed, although I couldn’t think why.

‘How about you? Did you sleep well?’ I asked.

‘Not particularly. Sassy insisted on sleeping in my bed.’