The voices immediately hushed. I knocked again. I couldn’t be arsed kicking down the door and attacking, especially when I was outnumbered and the people I hurt could be Eve’s long-lost brothers. Although if my ploy didn’t work, it would probably come to that.

Fortunately, whoever was inside was smart enough to know that I’d heard them and that pretending not to be there wouldn’t work. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t as smart as they thought.

The door opened and a dark-haired woman appeared. She was wearing jeans and a smart blouse and looked to be in her early thirties – and she was no one I’d ever seen before. I pasted on a suitably bored expression. ‘Eve Harrington?’

‘Yes.’

Liar. Suddenly granted silent permission to hurt her, I smiled. ‘I’ve got a delivery for you.’

She glanced at the box and held out her hands for it. ‘Thanks.’

I kept hold of it. ‘I need you to sign.’ I shrugged amiably. ‘The company insists. I’ve lost my pen though – at my last drop-off, the guy kept it. Can you believe it?’ I shook my head. ‘I didn’t realise until I was halfway here. Honestly, you have no idea how many pens I go through in a month.’

Fake Eve stared at me. ‘That … sucks,’ she said finally.

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘But I can’t leave without a signature. Do you have a pen inside?’

Her eyes shifted. I reckoned she was debating between her desire to say no and get rid of me as quickly as possible and her curiosity about what goodies she could nick from Eve’s delivery. Fortunately, the latter won. ‘Give me a minute.’

I beamed. ‘Great.’ Without giving her time to close the door on me, I barged past her. Everything inside looked okay. I cast around surreptitiously for Harold but he was nowhere to be seen.

‘Wait here,’ Fake Eve muttered, obviously annoyed that I’d gained entry.

Before she could turn away, a male voice called out from the living room. ‘Who was it?’

‘It’s just a delivery, darling.’ Her voice was strained.

Her partner-in-crime appeared at the open living-room doorway. He was dressed in a similarly casual fashion but he looked like someone who took life far too seriously. Although he was probably only a few years older than me, his face was lined; there was a deep cleft running from his forehead to the top of his nose that suggested he spent his days wandering around and glowering at everyone he met. When he saw me standing there, he definitely wasn’t any happier.

Fake Eve pointed at the box I was still holding. ‘I need a pen to sign for the delivery.’

He grunted and turned away. ‘I think there’s one in here. Wait a minute.’

There was a blur of movement and Harold’s furry shape leapt out of the room, claws scratching Eve’s wooden floor in his haste to escape.

‘Your cat,’ I began.

‘It’s fine,’ Fake Eve said. ‘She always does that. She’ll come back when she’s hungry.’