She opens the rear door. The interior is plush with comfortable leather seats. There is a glass panel between the driver and the rear, which she is pleased about. No need to make small talk. She notices a built-in chiller with a single frosted champagne glass and a bottle of Cassandra’s favourite champagne, Veuve Clicquot, chilling inside a bucket of ice.

She suddenly feels very thirsty.

Should she help herself? She reaches forward but catches the driver watching her in the rear-view mirror, feels a flush of embarrassment and sits back looking outside to avoid his gaze. She remembers she has a new message and pulls the phone from her bag.

Help yourself to champagne. M X

Megan claps her hands together. Don’t mind if I do.

The car starts up and pulls away at a steady speed. Megan feels like a celeb and wonders if any of her neighbours can see her. She hopes so. Smiling, she leans across, pours herself a glass of champagne and takes a generous sip.

‘This is the life.’

Through the tinted windows she watches the city lights fly past. She feels very relaxed and seems to sink into the soft leather seat. The lights outside blur. Her eyes feel heavy and begin to close. Perhaps a little nap would be nice. She feels the glass slip from her fingers as darkness beckons and sleep overcomes her.

Chapter 20

20

IT’S ALMOST 10 P.M. WHEN Archer finishes writing up her report for the day. She leaves to get a few hours’ sleep and thinks of Dom, who she hasn’t seen in more than four days. She realises how much she misses him and decides to surprise him, knowing he’ll like that.

She catches an Uber to his flat, a stylish complex of compact but snazzy modern apartments. She stops at a nearby off-licence and picks up a bottle of his favourite red wine, Pomerol.

She lets herself in through the front entrance, climbs the stairs and wonders how she should approach their recent lack of communication. She knows she is as much to blame as he is but feels it’s time they both made a more concerted effort.

Archer opens the door, steps into the hallway. There is an industrial-style console table with what looks like a new purchase on top. When the mood grabs him, Dom sometimes splashes out on antiques, providing the price is negotiable. Displayed on the console is a stuffed white dove contained within a glass dome. The dove’s wings are spread as if it’s waiting to fly away, but cannot because it’s trapped. She feels her skin tingle. When was this ever Dom’s kind of thing? On the walls are limited-edition prints that she has never taken much notice of. She looks at them now with a keener focus newly stoked by her current investigation.