His phone pinged with a text.

u have to see this, incredible! XX

Frowning, he texted back.

u need to see what I have for you! XX

A reply came back seconds later.

I mean it! Reflection of the moon on the sea – like, something magical! XXX

Where are u?

Walk straight across the road and keep going, you’ll see me! I’m crazy for u! XXXX

Coming! XXXXX

106

Friday 13 September

The rain had stopped now and the moon was shining through a break in the clouds. The woman at the cliff edge, with her back to them, lowered her umbrella, still facing out to sea, her stance showing she was braced against the wind. Grace and Branson could clearly see, through their binoculars, her razored blonde hair rippling. It was Rebecca Watkins.

But wouldn’t she have heard the Fiesta arriving? Caught the headlights out of the corner of her eye? Why didn’t she turn to see if it was her lover, instead of continuing to stare ahead without even a glance? Staring as if she was looking for something far out to sea. A signal from a boat? No, that made no sense.

Grace swung his glasses in the direction of the Fiesta, and a few seconds later the distinctive figure of Niall Paternoster appeared on the far side of the vehicle. Grace watched as he hurried across the road and headed over the grass towards Rebecca. She still didn’t turn round.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ Branson asked.

Grace didn’t reply, he was watching intently. Again thinking back to the words relayed by Sharon Orman. The rendezvous between Rebecca Watkins and Niall Paternoster. Something at the time had felt wrong about it, and it felt even more wrong now, but he couldn’t say why. Something about Rebecca’s body language?

Through the green glow of the night vision, Grace watched Paternoster getting closer to her. Closer. Closer.

She still wasn’t moving, just staring ahead, like a statue. Rocking slightly in the wind.

Was she aware he was coming up behind her? Could Niall be about to push her over the edge? Was the sound of the wind making her unable to hear him? For a split-second Grace toyed with hitting the horn or flashing the lights to warn her and distract Paternoster. He braced himself, ready to leap out and run across. But he held himself in check, dismissing that thought. This was two lovers meeting. Their rendezvous. Their assignation. Meeting for sex according to the conversation Sharon Orman had lip-read in the pub.

But Grace still didn’t think that was all. Something else was going on, he was more and more certain. And hoping to hell he wasn’t going to be proved wrong.

107

Friday 13 September

The grass was wet and Niall Paternoster was only wearing suede loafers, his brand-new, very expensive, tasselled beige ones, and they were going to be ruined. They were already soaked through after just a few paces, making his bare feet inside them wet, too. His hair was being torn from its roots and his eyes were watering from the wind.