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Chapter 1

Ella Watson filled the drum of the washing machine to bursting. It was her least favourite chore and she stuffed the items in roughly. There wasn’t even space for a tea towel. School PE kit, stuff picked up off the floor of teenagers’ bedrooms, as well as golfing, hiking and skiing paraphernalia for their holiday made the machine groan. She had a hundred and one things to get done, and she liked to be ahead of schedule when planning for their holidays. They were to spend Christmas in their chalet in Val Thorens, and she’d got everything out of the loft to wash. It wasn’t actually a chalet, more of a penthouse, but one mustn’t boast.

Despite her list of mounting errands, she was still determined to go for a run.

Their house was set back from Ullswater, on the south shore, hidden away behind a wall of rhododendrons and an electric iron gate. From the sitting room on the first floor, the lake could be viewed in its full majesty, and Ella paused as she went through the room to her bedroom upstairs. Beyond the lake, she could consider the fells that painted the background to the view, and soak up the tranquillity. Winter was well on its way. The light was beautiful today, she observed. The ancient trees on the north shore were a mixture of various hues of orange, grey and green. But the warmth of the landscape belied the freezing temperatures. Going to her room, she wrapped up in two thermal layers and her warmest running trousers. Her running gloves were downstairs. She might even take a hat.

She rarely went in to Penrith – it was fairly grotty, except for the castle – but today she had to visit the Apple Store because her son, Jordan, had dropped his phone again. She insisted on taking it to an official outlet to replace the broken screen, rather than a corner shop promising deals. Her plan was to pop in and leave the phone, then try out Potton Park for a jog. She’d never run there before, but she thought it looked pretty. It was close to the centre of Penrith and a nod to rural charm and clean air.

The house was quiet as she gathered her things for the morning ahead. Thomas, her husband, was on the golf course. She knew she was lucky, but then they’d earned their privileges. Thomas had done stints in Manchester and London and given his pound of flesh to corporatism. Now, at fifty, it was their time to enjoy the fruits of their labour, away from the big cities. They’d lived near Ullswater for three years.