Kate knew they’d slept together too. How was that possible unless he’d told her? The hole in the patio wall had been repaired and Tom had made sure to pull the shutters closed before they went to bed together. He had to have told her; but why?

Kate’s words echo in her mind: ‘We keep our marriage quiet because of women like you. Sad, lonely, desperate women who latch onto him like limpets.’

Was it all a lie? A sick joke? Maybe Tom was sleeping with lots of the women, whispering sweet nothings into their ears and making them promises. She’d assumed that the warm, compassionate, softly spoken man she’d got to know was the real Tom Wade. But what if he wasn’t? What if that was the persona he adopted to seduce his clients? When they’d gone for a sea swim on the first night and stopped at the cliff edge Tom had looked troubled. Was that an act? Was he just mimicking her mood so she’d feel a connection with him? She was vulnerable, broken, needy – he barely needed to try.

Was she part of a long line of conquests that Kate tolerated for the sake of the business? Did she warn them off when they fell for Tom, when he took it too far?

He’d lied to her. She’d given him the opportunity to confess that Kate was more than just his assistant but, instead of admitting she was his wife, he’d fudged the conversation and made excuses for her behaviour.

Jenna reaches into her pocket for the water bottle and takes a long, desperate gulp. She’s exhausted and dehydrated, not thinking clearly. She needs to go back to the sweat lodge and wait for Tom to come out. She’ll know by his reaction if Kate was telling the truth.

As she turns to climb back over the wall, the water bottle falls from her hands.

Tom’s left the sweat lodge, but he’s not standing by the entrance shouting Jenna’s name or looking desperately around for her; he’s entangled with a dark-haired woman, their half-naked limbs entwined. The woman he’s kissing is Kate.

Chapter 48

Now

KATE

Kate pulls into the retreat car park a little after three a.m. She turns on the torch function on her phone and makes her way down to the house; the lights are off and all the curtains are closed. She lets herself in then climbs the stairs to the room she shared with Tom. She’s buzzing with adrenaline, braced for a fight. For the last hour, she’s been mentally rehearsing every possible permutation the conversation could take; preparing come-backs for any verbal obstacles Tom puts in her way and arguments to shoot him down. She opens the door to their bedroom and turns on the light.

‘Tom?’

There’s no one in the bed and the duvet’s smooth, untouched.