It was the lack of anything, no communication at all, that hurt. If she’d hoped that Brendon had been wrong and it wasn’t James that he’d dodged on the path, that hope was dashed now. James hadn’t come to see her as organised, hadn’t called to say why not or even texted an excuse. No, he thought she was with another man, and she had no way of telling her side of the story if he wouldn’t even give her a chance.

She grabbed her handbag and slipped into a pair of espadrilles then scooped up her phone. She paused and looked at it. There had to be something she could do. In fact there was, she’d message him, then he’d have to see her reasoning. She thought for a moment then…

James. I’m sorry not to have seen you last night and I think I know why. But please, let me explain. It isn’t what you think. Can we meet at Frank’s later? Megan x

She hit send. Her mouth was dry and her heart beat wildly. Brendon would likely have lots to say about that rash course of action but tough, she had to do something, passive misery wasn’t her style.

She went to the front door. Another envelope with just her name on it had been slotted through the letterbox. A rush of dread went through her. Had Dylan been back to her flat, in the night, while she’d slept? The thought made her feel sick.

With shaky hands she opened it. This time, as she unfolded the A4 piece of paper she could see it wasn’t blank. Her focus blurred slightly as she read it.

You are the love of my life.

I will have you in my life.

I will get you back.

Soon.

“Oh God.” It was him—Dylan. And still crazed by the sound of it.

She stared at the shut door. Was he out there? Waiting?

She had no idea, but equally she refused to be intimidated by him. She was tougher than that. He was just being an idiot.

Megan braced herself then opened the front door.

Nothing, no one.

She let out a sigh of relief, walked outside and breathed deeply. London fumes took the edge off a summer’s morning as did an anonymous letter. She frowned and strode towards the Tube station. An irritated knot formed in her stomach that not even the birds singing in a lone cherry tree could ease.

As she walked into her office, all quiet because the estate agents were still an hour off arriving, her phone rang. She scrabbled for it then plucked it from her purse.

“Hello.”

Nothing.

She glanced at the screen. Caller ID withheld.

“Hello, is that you?” she asked. Was it James? God, she hoped so.

Still nothing. Though wait, she could hear something. It sounded like traffic in the distance.