She listened out for her husband and, hearing nothing, moved closer to Jared, lowering her voice. ‘I saw Neil today. He says you told Brooks about us.’

He frowned. ‘Of course I didn’t. I’d never do that.’

She sighed wearily. ‘Well, how did he know about the Italian tour and Warsaw, then?’

Jared looked bewildered and gave a defensive shrug. Connie watched his childishly handsome face, saw him sweeping back his over-long hair, recognized the navy cotton shirt he was wearing as the one he’d had on in Inverness … and felt no sexual attraction for him whatsoever. She wondered that she ever had. He seemed weak, lost, as he stood there gazing at her with the needy turquoise eyes she’d found so compelling in the past: the cuckoo in the nest. Seeing him now, she felt only revulsion.

‘I’m telling Devan in the morning,’ she said, very quietly.

He looked instantly alarmed. ‘Don’t, Connie. Please don’t. There’s really no need to do that. Things are OK, aren’t they? We’re OK. I was so drunk the other night. It won’t happen again, I promise. Please …’

Listening to him, Connie realized with a shock that for Jared this was about much more than her. He had bought into a community, friendships, a lifestyle – maybe for the first time. She was what had propelled him to this village. But now it was clear that he desperately didn’t want the boat rocked. He wanted everything to stay exactly as it was.

She turned away. ‘Devan will be down in a minute,’ she said, as she walked out of the room. In the hall, she didn’t know where to go. She needed to get away from them both, but Jared might follow her into the sitting room and Devan was in the bedroom … It was raining and bitter outside. She hesitated, then pulled on her heavy parka, grabbed her keys from the bowl on the side. She would drive.

24

Connie drove in the direction of the sea. It was about forty minutes, but she was unaware of the journey, only the destination. She wanted to stand on the edge of the land and look out into the blackness, the emptiness, feel the wind tear at her and the rain lash her cheeks, hear the thunder of surf on shingle and her own voice screaming to the blackened sky. She needed something violent and primeval to erase the image of Jared, who sat like an evil spirit, snug in her bright, cosy kitchen, in her home … with her husband … in the very heart of her marriage. It made her rigid with nausea.