“What the hell are you doing here, Paul?”

He’d had his explanations prepared, just as he’d been trained to, but he’d frozen for a second too long.

“Did you follow me?” she’d asked, looking so incredulous that Paul had begun to fear he’d got things very, very wrong.

“Why would you do that?” She’d kept asking questions because he hadn’t been answering. All he’d been able to think was that he didn’t want to lose her, wished he could turn back the clock in every possible way.

His eyes must have strayed to the building she’d come out of. Nathalie had looked round too. When she’d turned back he’d been unable to read her face, half lit by a glow from the narrow windows of the hut. Paul couldn’t resist glancing back at it, trying to see inside.

“What is this place?” he’d asked, finally recovering his voice.

Afterward, he’d convinced himself that if she hadn’t acted evasive at that point, everything might have been okay. The way she’d squinted, fiddled with her earring, it had made his police instincts kick back in, merging with his intimate knowledge of her nervous tics.

He’d taken a step toward the building, watching her reaction, asking again what was there.

“What—you think I’m having an affair or something? Don’t you trust me?”

Did he trust her? Did he trust anyone?

“You sneak off here most weeks,” he’d said. “I’ve even seen Daniel giving you money beforehand.”

“So what?”

“So . . .” He could still remember how light-headed he’d felt, how he’d known he was on a cliff edge: He could either tip over or haul himself back.

An outside force had seemed to snatch the words from his mouth before he’d fully decided whether he should, or could, say them: “Is it something to do with Billie?”

All the muscles had tightened in her face. She’d looked so different in that slow, drawn-out moment, staring at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s okay.” Paul had tried to touch her arm but she’d jerked away. “You can tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“If . . . if Daniel made you do something. If he dragged you into his plan.”

“Plan?”

Paul had felt himself tumbling over that imaginary cliff edge, falling in blackness. He pictured telling Glover, I thought it was time. Time to push her a bit on the Billie thing. I’d secured her trust and hoped she’d tell me the truth.