She shivered involuntarily as she replayed the whole car-ramming incident in her mind. It wasn’t until now she could fully take on board exactly what had happened. Her stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat. She dashed through to the bathroom and retched over the toilet bowl. When she was convinced she wasn’t going to be sick, Steph slumped on the floor, all her energy zapped from her. She cowered in a ball as first her hands, then her arms and finally her whole body began to shake violently for several seconds.

Shock. She knew it was delayed shock. And who could blame her? She made a conscious decision not to fight the physical reaction and waited for the shaking to subside. Carefully, holding on to the sink for support, she got to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly, but she made her way back into the bedroom and flopped down on her bed.

She lay there for some time, allowing her thoughts to wash over her. She wished she could work it all out. This incident had only served to convince her someone out there didn’t want her at Conmere. They were trying to frighten both her and Sonia Lomas off.

Admittedly, it was tempting to pack her bags and head off back to the security of Brighton and her undemanding job at Vacation Staycation, but Steph knew she couldn’t. There was no way she could let this go now. She felt some deep-rooted loyalty to Elizabeth, which was strange, considering they had never known each other. Maybe Sonia was the connection? Steph gave a half-laugh. God, a psychologist would have a field day with her. They’d say she was imprinting on Sonia, that Sonia was the mother she had always craved and now she didn’t want to disappoint her or let her down.

Steph sat up and let out a sigh. The sad thing was, there was probably some truth in that self-analysis.

Steph’s gaze rested on the notebook. She picked it up, more for a distraction than anything else, and thumbed through it again. The last page was dated 30 August, not long before Elizabeth’s death. Steph scanned the handwritten notes.

Saturday 8.00 Dinner with Harry, Owen & Natalie

Tues, 10.15 Nails

Cam … 230 … 2206

01228 404404

Pick up dry-cleaning

Email re massage

Check out flights to Italy & villa

One entry in particular had been circled several times in red biro: Cam … 230. She couldn’t quite read the word, as the handwriting was a little messier than Elizabeth’s usual style. She studied it again. Cameron? Wasn’t that the name of the man from the pub whom Elizabeth was supposed to be having an affair with?