‘Don’t ask,’ Rob said. ‘Because I won’t say. It’s someone I know from when I was in the police. Tell me if you’re interested and I’ll see what I can do.’

‘How much?’ Matt said.

‘Let’s start with ten thousand. Can you pay that? And it needs to be cash.’

‘Yes,’ Matt said. He looked at Tessa, Mike and Annabelle.

Tessa nodded. ‘I can go to the bank and get some of it.’

‘Banks are closed,’ Mike said. ‘It’s Sunday. I’ve got the cash in my account. I’ll give you a cheque.’

‘No,’ Rob said. ‘No cheques.’

‘Then what do we do?’ Annabelle said.

‘I’m not sure,’ Rob replied. ‘But she’ll need cash.’

‘We’ll figure it out,’ Tessa said. She looked at her watch. ‘Five minutes to go.’

Matt glanced at his wife. ‘Annabelle?’

‘Tell him we accept,’ she said.

Matt typed the message. He stared at it for a long time, then pressed send.

Chester, 2011

1

She walked, hand in hand with Matt, through the shopping mall.

It was her first book reading, at an independent bookshop in Chester. The owner had sent a message to Guy saying she’d read Still Waters, loved it, and would Annabelle like to do a reading? Would she like to? She’d have killed for it.

A book reading.

Her book.

Still Waters by Annabelle Anderson. They were engaged and she had considered writing as Annabelle Westbrook, but it felt premature. If there were further books she would write under her maiden name; she liked the anonymity, as well as the alliteration of the name.

Plus, Matt had said it was best to have a surname starting with ‘A’ as most people browsed from the start of the shelves, and that was where the A’s got put.

She had chosen three key passages to read, one from the start, and two from the middle. She knew what she was going to say, and had tried to anticipate the questions she might get. She pictured the scene: her, sitting by a table with a stack of copies of Still Waters on it, her book in her hand. Rows of people sitting in chairs brought from a storeroom at the back. Would there be enough? How many chairs did a bookshop typically have? If people had to stand, that was fine. She’d make a joke about it. Modest and self-deprecating, of course.

They turned a corner, and there it was. The site of her first reading.

There was a sign in the window:

AUTHOR EVENT

BOOK SIGNING

Annabelle Anderson, reading from her debut novel

Still Waters

6 p.m., 30 October 2011

Matt made an excited face. That was the great thing about him; she knew he truly wanted the best for her. His excitement was genuine; with friends there was sometimes the sense that they secretly wanted you to fail, that they saw themselves as competitors. But not Matt. They were a partnership.