She stared unseeingly at the London landmarks as they sped past. To her, Dudley was also the boy of eight who had been the first, the only person, to speak to Lizzie when she had arrived, grief-stricken and alone, at her new school. Her mother had died, she had hated the world and been horribly rude and prickly, but somehow Dudley had understood that and had tolerated her. He had helped her with her homework until she caught up with the rest of the class and then she helped him because she was as clever if not cleverer than he was. He was interested in mathematics; Lizzie had preferred languages. They had been friends ever since. How long ago it all seemed now.

She remembered how she had felt when Dudley had met Amelia. They had had a whirlwind romance and married and Lizzie had been riven with jealousy and fear to start with: fear that she would lose one of the few lasting relationships of her life. But as it had turned out, nothing had really changed. Dudley still hung out with her. They still talked about anything and everything. Soon Amelia had moved to Oakhangar Hall whilst Dudley lived most of the time in London. It had felt almost as though Amelia did not exist.

Lizzie shifted uncomfortably on the seat. The feelings she had for Dudley were deep-rooted and important to her but they were completely devoid of sexual desire. Not once in their long, intimate friendship had she felt the same shock of connection she had experienced that morning with Arthur Robsart. She had never felt such awareness, such a sense of recognition, with anyone else. In fact, now she thought about it, she had seldom been strongly attracted to anyone. It wasn’t just the wariness engendered by her childhood; it had been lack of interest, almost to the point where she had wondered if there was something wrong with her.

And then she had touched Arthur and the world had exploded into sensation.

I know you.

It was stupid. It was mad. In some way it had to be connected with her gift of psychometry but she had no idea how. Yet it felt as though there was an affinity, an instinct as old as time, that drew them together. Lizzie felt the goosebumps rise over her skin. She did not want that connection to Arthur and she was certain he didn’t want it either. She curled her fingers over the scar on her palm and squeezed tightly as though she could eradicate it. She told herself it didn’t matter anyway. Very probably she wouldn’t see Arthur again—it was hardly likely she’d be invited to Amelia’s funeral—and even if she did see him, she’d make sure never, ever to touch him.

She felt restless, thoughts of Dudley, Johnny and Arthur turning over and over in her mind. As soon as she got home, she went down to the swimming pool in the basement. To her relief, it was empty. It lay flat and turquoise blue as a summer sky, the underwater lights throwing ripples and shadows upward to reflect against the white arch of the roof. There was a strong smell of chlorine and the hum of machinery, and beyond the huge glass windows the river Thames ran dark grey, another world.