After Marina had moved in with me, we had almost never spent an evening at home in the flat; and, when we had, we’d certainly not been watching television—there was too much else to do, too much fun to be had, either just the two of us alone in adoration, or over a convivial dinner with friends.

We had spent the weekends on adventures out of the city, staying in grand country-house hotels or in rented cottages overlooking the sea, taking walks hand in hand—her left in my right—come sun, wind, or rain.

In spite of Marina working full-time at the cancer laboratory and me conducting my self-employed investigating business, we had still managed to take spontaneous holidays, flying off at a moment’s notice to the Maldives or the Mediterranean, anywhere where there was warmth and sunshine to brighten our lives.

And laughing. We had always been laughing.

I suddenly realised how much our lives had changed since we had moved out of the noisy smoke to the calmness of the countryside.

It wasn’t all bad, of course.

Saskia had been born just two months after we had arrived in Nutwell, and both of us had taken to parenthood with a passion, adoring our new beautiful daughter and caring for her every need, never minding the fact that it left us both too tired for anything else except staying in, watching television and going to bed early.

I suppose, as time had moved on and Saskia had grown from being a baby to a toddler, then to a little girl and now a not-so-little girl of nine and a half, we had become rather used to our quiet country lives.

It’s not that we didn’t go out. We did, but only rarely, maybe once a week or so with friends such as Tim and Paula, Annabel’s parents, when we might venture on foot to the village pub for supper, or to Banbury for a curry.

I couldn’t remember the last time we had been to the cinema, usually waiting instead for the new releases to become available as a DVD or streamed on Netflix. And as for live performances, we hadn’t even managed to get to the Royal Shakespeare or any of the other four theatres in Stratford-upon-Avon for years, and they were just a few miles away.

What had happened to us?

No wonder Marina was bored with me. I felt quite bored with me too.

But it had been her idea to move out of London in the first place. Indeed, it had been more than an idea, more like an ultimatum—move out or lose her. She had longed for the peace and quiet of the countryside, and she had particularly loved it when we had stayed for weekends with Charles.

That’s why we had bought a place near to him.