The word made me feel stronger. I would not do anything to make myself and my baby vulnerable. I would not put us at risk. I would not let him steal her from me. There was another good reason not to leave him quite yet. If I did, how could I help Jane? Maxine knew what she was doing when she appealed to my solidarity with a woman in trouble. And she knew of my Pandora-like curiosity.

My baby fluttered like a butterfly, as if to encourage me. Her movements were a gift. ‘I’m so in love with you, little baby,’ I said. She fluttered again, as if to tell me that she loved me back, and I laughed.

I got up from the chair and carefully lowered myself onto the rug in front of the steamer chest. I was cross-legged, to give my growing belly extra space, and to keep myself steady and grounded. At that moment, I couldn’t let myself think about the recording of Milly and Scarlett. And I especially couldn’t think about Zac’s home-made films. I pushed away my memories of what we did in that bed, what I wore, positions, the sounds I made, the things we said.

I turned my full attention to the steamer chest, and got to work on picking the lock. I inserted the largest of the screwdrivers into the vertical keyhole, but it was way too big. I inserted the middle-sized screwdriver, but it was slightly too big. I inserted the smallest screwdriver, and it was just right and perfectly tight.

I checked what I was doing against the illustration in the open book, but my hand was wet with nervous sweat, and it was hard to concentrate when I was jerking my eyes between the book and the lock. I lost the angle and the screwdriver slipped.

When a spy was bad in a novel, it didn’t mean they were incompetent. It meant they’d gone rogue. It pissed me off, the way the heroes in those thrillers were portrayed as so hard, so impervious. The way they seemed to do everything right.

I wiped my hands on the Persian rug that Zac put in that room to fight the country house florals the owners had stuck everywhere. I lost count of how many attempts I’d made when, to my amazement, I felt the two pins push in together, and the little locking wedge tabs along with them. I took a deep breath and lifted the lid of the trunk.

Inside were stacks of faded green and pink file pockets. I picked up the nearest few, flicking through the papers inside. Zac had told the truth about his medical school notes. They were organised by topic, and labelled in his ultra-controlled writing. I looked quickly through each of them, arranging them in a careful sequence so that I would be able to put them back exactly as I’d found them.