She thought of Rob. Would he expect her to confront Max? No. No, he’d have kept calm. Made sure of the facts. Spoken to Tamsyn first. He definitely would not have marched into Max’s study and beaten him with his fists again and again and again…

‘Angie.’

Max was standing at his door.

She stopped walking, then after a hesitation turned cautiously to face him. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders stooped a little. Was it guilt she could see? He didn’t speak immediately. The air between them crackled and she found herself battling to keep from crying.

‘Nothing’s going on—’

‘Mrs Davenport asked me to leave.’ Angie dropped her eyes and started towards the door again.

‘You must believe me, Angie. She…’ He hesitated again. ‘She makes things up. Lives in a dream world. She’s not in her right mind. None of what you heard is true.’

Then from somewhere Angie found some strength. Perhaps it was the recollection of Eleanor’s vile words or the stench of alcohol that had accompanied them. Or the idea that people like her said whatever they wanted to without thought for anybody else. Or perhaps it was the idea that this entitled, conceited man might have been doing God-only-knew-what to her daughter.

‘Good,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Because if I find out you’ve laid a finger on her, then I won’t be responsible for what I do.’

Then there were voices on the upstairs landing. Not voices she knew. The Davenports’ friends. Whispering. A smothered laugh. Angie glanced up at the staircase. Max swallowed and blinked slowly. Straightened his shoulders. He opened his mouth to say something but Angie didn’t give him the chance.

‘Keep your hands off my daughter.’

Then she flung the back door open and walked down the lawn towards the gate and out onto the coastal path. She kept her head high with her shoulders back and made sure she strode. When she reached the point where she was out of sight of The Cliff House she finally gave in to raking sobs, crouching low, a hand resting on a rock at the side of the path for support.

She hadn’t been there long when someone cleared their throat behind her.

Angie snapped her head around to find Edie standing a few feet away. She wore pink and white spotty pyjama bottoms and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, with bare feet. Her face was clean of make-up and there was no gel in her hair, and her eyes, which seemed so much smaller without the black outlines, were rheumy from sleep.

The girl glanced back towards the house before dropping down beside her.

‘It’s not true. What she said.’ She rested her hand on Angie’s shoulder. ‘I promise. Tamsyn has been coming to see me. Not him. Eleanor’s crazy.’