It was hard to know just how scared she should be. Isabelle, wherever she was, would not speak to her – but if anything really had happened to Isabelle, surely Christine would be the first to know? The news from the hospital was ambiguous; Mademoiselle Crabtree was stable, that was all they would say, and there was nothing to suggest that it really had been anything other than a horrible hit-and-run. The papers were starting to refer to it as a ‘tragic accident’ rather than a murder. Leanne Miller’s prices had gone through the roof. Nobody cared much about Victoria Crabtree and her unborn child.

Christine sat at home waiting. The jobs were still not coming through. Andy was still not back. Ben was gone. She felt as if her life was on hold. Just this sense of dread . . .

The doorbell rang, and she jumped to her feet, grateful for any company.

‘Miss Fairbrother.’

Rivelli.

She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh.’

He tried to get a foot in the door; she moved out on to the porch, closed the door behind her.

‘I’m afraid I can’t invite you in, Massimo. The place is a mess.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘Whatever you have to say to me, you can say out here.’

‘Oh, come now.’ He produced something from behind his back; Christine almost flinched. ‘I brought you a bottle of Prosecco. Let’s say buon anno.’

‘It’s a little late for that.’

‘I insist.’

‘No, really,’ said Christine. ‘I insist.’

Rivelli held the bottle by its neck, like a weapon. If Christine screamed very loud, someone would surely hear her. ‘You are angry with me, of course. I understand.’

It would not do to expose her suspicions. ‘Angry? No. You win some, you lose some. That’s how the legal profession works.’

‘Yes. You lose some.’ Rivelli frowned. ‘You will not let me in?’

‘I will not.’

‘I wish I could persuade you.’

‘Your powers of persuasion have done quite enough damage, thank you very much.’

He leaned against the wall. ‘Good. Then I will cut out the pleasantries.’

‘Please do.’

‘I know what you are doing.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure you know all sorts of things.’

‘I do not like being spied on, Christine. I know you have been sniffing around, looking into my private affairs.’

‘Thank you. If that’s all . . .’

‘I am not one of your English gentlemen, you know. I am not like John Ferguson, or your husband, or your son. I am not afraid of hurting a woman.’

‘Ah, I wondered how soon it would be before you threatened me. Are you aware of section four of the Public Order Act, nineteen eighty-six?’

‘Your laws do not . . .’

‘Relating to intentional harassment, alarm or distress?’

‘Call off your dogs, Christine. I will not stand for it.’

‘I’d have to check the exact wording, but it’s something like threatening, abusive or insulting behaviour.’