I went through to the study, switched the computer on to email Xav and looked for my diary to find the number for the Rex Hotel.

It wasn’t in its usual place on the desk.

I’d scribbled Maya’s number on the front leaf when she’d rung me last night; early this morning, just before we’d left for the airport, I’d run into the room to transfer the number into my phone. I knew I’d left the diary right there on the desk; it lived there permanently.

And the picture of the children had been moved. My favourite photo of the three grinning up at me on a Cornish beach last summer, Freddie’s head turned towards his grinning sisters, his fat tummy swelling above little blue shorts, Effie’s face pink from the sun, with ice cream on her chin, and Alicia straw-hatted, sticking her tongue out mischievously. The picture always sat in front of the printer so I could see it when I wrote. Only now it was slightly to the left, eclipsed by the screen.

Perhaps McCready – but it was Saturday. She never came in on the weekends unless I asked her to especially. I began to rummage on the desk, moving papers, going through the in-tray.

My heart beat a little faster; I knocked over a leaning pile of New Yorkers that went tumbling, slapping to the ground. And then I stopped. Come on, Rose. I was getting paranoid. I’d probably left it in the car, or upstairs, or—

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ a low voice asked.

I screamed.

Afterwards I felt ashamed, but it was an animalistic noise that came instinctively.

‘How the hell did you get in?’ My heart was banging.

Callendar held my diary like a trophy, extending it towards me. ‘You left the back doors open.’ He actually smiled at me and I felt anger rise quickly now, replacing the fear. He crunched the sweet he’d been sucking.

‘Well, you can walk right out of them again then, can’t you?’ The wash of adrenalin was making me shake. ‘You really frightened me, you know.’

‘I can see that.’ He took a step towards me. ‘I didn’t really mean to.’

‘Didn’t really mean to?’

He shrugged. ‘Didn’t mean to, then.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ I glared at him. ‘What the hell are you doing here? What the hell are you doing with that?’

‘Returning it.’

His nonchalance irritated me beyond belief. ‘But you’ve just stolen it.’

‘Stolen it?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘No, Rose, you left it somewhere.’

‘Somewhere?’

‘The exact location escapes me.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah, really. I’m just returning it. And I also came to ask you,’ he stepped nearer to me, throwing the diary on the desk, ‘what you think you’re doing?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’ He rubbed his face wearily.