‘True.’ Adam was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out stories, but at the same time her own sense of intrigue wasn’t quite satisfied. Both Adam and her mother were keen for her not to pursue the Elizabeth Sinclair story any further, and for some reason that troubled her.

‘If you get time, why don’t you give me a call when you’re up here?’ said Adam, changing the pace of the conversation. ‘We could meet for a drink.’

‘Yeah, I’d like that but I’ll have to see how much time I get. I’m supposed to be visiting my mother too.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Adam. ‘Unless, of course, things have drastically improved between you two.’

‘Not really,’ admitted Steph. ‘She retired last year and I thought we might see more of each other, but it’s never really happened.’

‘Look, if you get a chance, call me.’

‘Cheers, Adam …’

‘And forget the Elizabeth Sinclair story.’

‘Don’t know what story you’re talking about,’ replied Steph with exaggerated innocence.

Adam made a humph sort of noise, clearly not convinced. ‘Look after yourself, Steph,’ he said, before hanging up.

His parting words felt loaded with meaning but, far from putting Steph off, they only served to drive her on to find out more.

She opened the Twitter app on her phone and went to the direct message from Sonia Lomas.

Steph: Hi, Sonia. Would you like to meet up? Where are you based?

She received a reply within a few minutes.

Sonia: I’m in Croydon but can travel.

Steph: How about Arundel? It’s about halfway between us. 12 tomorrow at The White Swan? We can meet for coffee.

Sonia: Yes, that works for me. See you then. And thank you.

For some reason, Steph didn’t think Sonia Lomas was unhinged. Sad and depressed, yes, but not mentally ill in the way both her mother and Adam had implied.

Chapter Five

Conmere Resort Centre, Cumbria,
Wednesday, 8 May, 1.20 p.m.

Harry Sinclair swung his BMW X5 into the private car park at the back of Conmere House and, taking his spot marked with a small wooden placard bearing his name, next to his brother’s Range Rover, he cut the engine, letting out a small sigh as he did so. Just one week to get through and then he could leave all this behind him. It wasn’t only the physical presence of Conmere House that troubled him, it was all the bad things in his life that it represented, not least the death of his wife.

As he stepped out of his car he was greeted by the sound of yapping – his mother’s beloved trio of bichon frise dogs came scampering out from the pathway between the laurel hedges.