She studied him. It was clear that something was wrong. This was not the Guy she knew; he was urbane, intelligent, kind. This person was unhinged. It was possible he had experienced a trauma she didn’t know about which had left him like this, or he had suffered a breakdown of huge proportions.

Whatever it was, she couldn’t think of him as harmless old Guy. Not now. Not until he was better.

Until then she had to treat him like he was dangerous. Which, the pain in her shoulder constantly reminded her, meant going along with him.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m glad.’

‘Glad?’ he said. ‘Only, I thought you’d be more than that. Ecstatic. After what you’ve been through.’

‘I am,’ she said. ‘I said glad, but I meant delighted.’

He sat next to her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulder. He rested a hand on her thigh and she flinched away. ‘I’m so happy to be near you.’

She shifted so their hips weren’t touching. ‘Me too,’ she said.

His eyes narrowed, and he moved closer to her. ‘Good,’ he said.

She felt an intense discomfort at the touch of his hip. It was far too intimate. She didn’t want to antagonize him, but she had to break the contact, or she was worried she might be sick.

She shuffled away. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s – I need some space.’

He nodded. ‘I understand. It’s too soon. That’s understandable. And we have all the time in the world.’ He smiled, reassuringly. ‘All the time. He’ll never find you here. I made sure of that. You’re safe now. You’ve got everything you ever wanted.’

Her head spun. Safe? From what? From Matt? She tried to piece it all together. He had said it was her idea, that she had made him do this, that these were shared plans.

That she wanted to be here, was safe here, as though she was running from something.

But she had no idea what he was talking about. There was nothing in her life she wanted to flee; quite the opposite. And as for the fact that she’d made him do it – that was simply ridiculous. She had never told Guy that she needed him to kidnap her kids and then exchange them for her. Why would she?

But he believed it, and she needed to know what he thought and why or she would never get out of this mess.

Which meant swallowing her fear and playing along, for now.

‘Guy,’ she said. ‘How did you know what I’d been through? I mean, we never talked about it.’

He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated, theatrical gesture that said, Are you crazy?

‘We didn’t talk about it, but you told me everything. More than you could have by talking. I mean, come on, Annabelle. I can’t even believe you’re asking.’