Her heart gave a flutter as she went over the car incident. She and Sonia had come very close to a serious accident or worse. They were both very lucky not to be in hospital right now. And as for the window-smashing incident – had that been aimed at Steph or her mother? Were the two episodes connected? Her gut instinct was telling her they had to be related. It was too much of a coincidence for them not to be and they were definitely linked with the notebook which, by default, meant it all had something to do with Elizabeth’s death. She was rattling someone, that was for sure.

Much as it unnerved her, she knew she wasn’t going to give up now. She refused to be frightened off.

Conmere, Tuesday, 14 May, 10 a.m.

Steph climbed the grand staircase at Conmere House, trying to act casual and carrying a pile of clean towels in her arms. If anyone were to stop her, she’d say she was putting the towels out in the guest rooms.

She hadn’t spoken to Wendy since their argument. A couple of times she had picked up her mobile to ring her but hadn’t quite had the nerve to do so. Steph was still angry at Wendy’s unwillingness to help but she could get over that; what was worse was the rejection she felt. Wendy was still keeping her at a distance, just as she always had. A couple of times yesterday Steph had thought she was getting through to her mother, tapping into some sort of feeling or emotion, but each time Wendy had closed her down and it hurt massively.

And then there was Harry, someone else she’d fallen out with, but this time there was no feeling of anger or hurt, just one of regret. Despite this, she still couldn’t see how she would be able to tell him the truth about why she was here. She should have told him when she’d had the chance.

She reached the top of the stairs, the red carpet soft under her feet, and walked along the main corridor, stopping at Elizabeth’s room. Checking no one was about, she turned the porcelain handle gently. There was no resistance and the door opened with ease. Steph entered the room, closing the door behind her.

There was a small gap in the curtains and the morning sunlight cut through the tall Georgian windows, casting a mosaic of rainbow colours onto the floor. She drew in a breath as a small pang of jealousy nudged at her. She didn’t like to think of Elizabeth and Harry sharing this room. She eyed the bed accusingly while simultaneously scolding herself for her reaction. She had no right to feel jealous of a dead woman, least of all Harry’s wife.