‘You have great taste,’ the shop assistant told him. She was willowy and elegant and I felt like an elephant standing beside her.

Zac looked so pleased with himself it made my heart hurt. I couldn’t forget that he was the father of my child, though I sometimes wished I could, however lovely he’d pretended to be the past four days. I reminded myself that this was only because of my absolute compliance with his every wish and command since Monday.

Except for the sex. My compliance with that was not perfect. I pretended to be asleep, but he worked hard to wake me up, moving me over on the bed, probably because he was considering the camera angle. When my avoidance attempts failed, I thought of the woman from the hospital who complained about him. Did he film her too? Or try to? I thought also of Jane, and the likelihood that there was film of her as well. Maybe they had a fight about that, and it led to whatever happened in that Irish hotel.

It wasn’t a problem I could solve alone. My best chance of protecting all of us was to extract a promise from Maxine that she would get me and my baby out of this mess and ensure those images reached a dead end. If I could pass on the information she wanted, she would be more likely to. I just wished I knew what the information actually was. And the true reason she wanted it so badly. I wouldn’t give up on pressing her, whatever she said about informants not being allowed to know the ins and outs of MI5’s motives and methods.

The shop assistant turned to me. ‘How far along are you?’

‘Five and a half months.’ My hand floated to my bump.

‘You look gorgeous.’

‘She certainly does,’ Zac said.

‘That’s kind.’ I could feel myself blushing. ‘All pregnant women are beautiful.’

‘True. I love your dress, by the way,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’ It was a tight navy sweater dress.

‘And you have one adorable bump.’

Zac smiled. ‘I need to go. I’ll leave you in safe hands.’ He kissed me goodbye, and I thought, fleetingly again, that we almost seemed normal. ‘Take a taxi back to the hotel.’

‘Of course.’ And I fully intended to, though not from this shop.

I stood in the curtained window, still clutching the babygrow, peeking over the Moses basket that was displayed front and centre of the glass. The basket had an ivory-spotted cover of quilted voile, edged in lace. I watched Zac walk away in his designer suit and film-star sunglasses, the sun glinting on his scalp. He flagged down a taxi with decisive authority and jumped in.