It was here, in a rowboat on a scorching July day, that I had asked Mel to marry me. Pulled the oars in, mustered my courage and gone down on one knee with the ring. She had been so surprised that she stood up and nearly tipped us both into the water, but I had held on to her and steadied her, sat her down, watched as she pushed the ring onto her finger, smiling, laughing with delight, the small diamond flashing in the sunlight.

Nine years ago.

I stood up as she approached, watching her walk quickly up the path, hands deep in the pockets of her long winter coat. Her face was pale and drawn. She looked exhausted.

She folded into my arms and hugged me.

‘You OK?’ she breathed.

‘Fine. Thanks for skipping your meeting.’

‘It’s fine, I sent Andrea instead.’ Her office was only a five-minute walk away from Regent’s Park. ‘What’s going on, what did you want to talk about?’

‘Let’s sit down for a minute.’

We both sat and she put her handbag down between us.

‘What is it?’ There was a wariness in her voice, a reticence, as if she was getting ready to apologise again but didn’t yet know what for. ‘Is it Ben? Has he called you?’

‘No. Not exactly.’

‘You’ve seen him?’

‘I called him. I’ve spent half an hour this morning making phone calls.’

‘To Ben? What did he say?’

‘Nothing.’

She looked confused.

‘OK. I don’t . . . Should I know what you’re talking about, Joe? Who have you been phoning?’

In answer, I picked up her handbag, unzipped it and reached inside. Under normal circumstances she would have slapped my hand playfully away, told me off for being nosy. But not today. Today she just looked sad and defeated, and too guilt-ridden to try and stop me. So I rummaged through the contents, feeling for the cut in the inner lining.

I couldn’t feel the secret phone.

It was gone. She’d taken it out, moved it. She was going to deny it.

No. My hand closed around something flat and solid. It was there.

I fished it out and put it on the bench between us, saying nothing. Mel looked at the little mobile and her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t meet my eyes.

‘Oh, Joe. Darling. No. That isn’t . . .’ She shook her head, tailing off.

‘Just one question, Mel.’

‘OK.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

‘And remember what I said on Sunday about packing those two suitcases with your stuff if I think you’re lying.’

She bit her wobbling bottom lip. Nodded once.

‘No lies,’ I said.

‘No lies,’ she repeated.

‘Are you still in contact with Ben? Is it still going on, even now? Is this the phone you’re using to call him on?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘Look at me.’

She did, the first tears starting from her beautiful brown eyes.