‘Of course,’ she says. ‘It’s a shock, I get that. But will you at least take my number?’

I sign to Shelley for a pen and paper, and write down the number Jennifer gives me with a trembling hand.

‘How . . . how long have you been here?’ I ask, as my faculties slowly return and my suspicions set in.

‘Just a few days,’ she says.

A chill runs through me as I imagine her spending that time sitting in her hotel room, plotting my demise.

‘How long do you intend on staying?’ I ask.

‘As long as it takes,’ she says, unnerving me.

‘Like I said, I need time,’ I say, suddenly desperate to get her off the line.

‘I understand, take as long as you need.’

I sit and stare at the phone long after I’ve hung up, lost in the past and breathless at its impact on my future.

24

The second address on my list is just a couple of miles away in Herne Bay, and as I drive there from Shelley’s, I decide to bite the bullet and call the number I have for Ness. As it rings, I wonder if I’m about to speak to the stranger who is wreaking havoc on my life.

‘Hello?’ she answers, her voice sounding so unlike the monster Jacob had portrayed her to be.

‘Hi,’ I say, allowing for the possibility that they might not be the same person. ‘It’s Vanessa, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she says, hesitantly. ‘Who’s this?’

‘I’m really sorry to bother you,’ I say, ignoring her question. ‘But I’m trying to reach Michael. I keep trying his mobile, but he’s not answering.’

There’s a loaded silence at the other end.

‘Is he with you, as I’d really like to talk to him.’

‘Who is this?’ she asks again.

‘My name’s Naomi,’ I say, waiting before going on.

‘Chandler?’ she asks, her voice high-pitched.

‘Yes, has he mentioned me?’

‘You’ve got a fucking nerve,’ she hisses, sounding much more like the woman I imagined.

‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘Where is he?’ she screeches. ‘What have you done to him?’

I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it.

‘The police are on to you. They know what you’ve done.’

‘Now, listen—’ I start, before she cuts me off again.

‘We were happy until you came along,’ she yells. ‘We were finally getting back to how we used to be, but what chance did we have once you decided to get your claws into him?’

A strangled sob comes down the line.

‘I only ever tried to help him,’ I say. ‘Help you.’

‘Help me?’ she says, with a cynical laugh. ‘What, by having an affair with my husband?’

‘Wait,’ I say. ‘Whatever you think has been going on . . . you’re wrong. We have only ever had a professional relationship.’