She’d been angry at him, a build-up of jealousy about the wife of a friend of theirs that she felt he was flirting with, and she’d confronted him.

Whether it was the punch to her midriff or the fall, she would never know. But it had caused her to miscarry the baby they’d been trying to have for two years. And had succeeded, finally, after several expensive and unsuccessful IVF attempts.

The emergency team who dealt with the miscarriage had saved her life, but the price had been that she would never be able to conceive another child.

Niall, of course, full of remorse, professed his love for her, begging her forgiveness, begging her not to press charges with the police and promising her on his mother’s life that he would change. And for a while he had, becoming again the attentive, loving husband, turning back into the man she had fallen in love with and married. But she could never forget nor in her heart forgive him, and she knew she could never trust him again.

But more than that, she had made the decision that one day, somehow, she would get her revenge on him. She remembered the adage that ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold’. That’s when she had started planning, changing her will after entering into a secret relationship with someone who was in an equally bad marriage as her own. Someone she thought really did care for her, the new love of her life. And she had begun, subtly, to move her assets out of Niall’s reach.

One of her purchases with these assets was this remote country property, named Woodbury Cottage, where she had been living in the days since her disappearance. Converted some years back from a derelict shepherd’s croft, it was half a mile up a farm track near Chiddingly, in a dip in the South Downs. And the love of her life was due to arrive any time! She looked at the kitchen clock: 8.05 p.m.

She opened the fridge door and checked that the bottle of Prosecco she had put in earlier was now nicely chilled. Then she popped open a tin of her beloved’s favourite anchovy olives and poured them into a bowl. Having done that, she pulled on oven gloves and checked the beetroot-based vegetarian pizza in the Aga. It was about done, so she moved it to the warming oven.

A ping on her phone signalled a text. She looked at it.

Three minutes! XXXXXXXX

She texted back:

Make it sooner XX

Then, thrumming with excitement, she raced upstairs and into the bathroom. She checked her hair in the mirror, sprayed mint fresher into her mouth and dabbed perfume around her neck.

Ping!

30 seconds! XX

Eden heard the roar of an engine and the scrunch of tyres on the gravel outside.

She felt so happy, so incredibly excited as she threw herself back down the stairs and raced over to the front door.

Flinging it open, she said, ‘Oh my God, I’ve missed you!’