‘I know.’ Hanna looked straight at her.

Bell looked back, waiting for more. So then, what?

‘That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Bell. Linus loves you. He adores you. He feels safe with you –’

Oh God – she realized it suddenly – this was the ‘but’. ‘You want me to go with him?’

‘As a chaperone. As someone he loves and trusts deeply.’ Hanna nodded, desperation in her eyes, her mouth a narrow slash of bitter regret. ‘You are the only person I can ask, Bell. The only one we trust.’

Bell swallowed, hating even the idea of this, hating the very idea of this man and what he wanted. He was a victim here too, she understood that, but he was risking his son’s wellbeing with this demand, and putting himself first. Couldn’t he see that?

‘It would mean . . .’ Hanna sounded hesitant again and Bell braced, wondering what else was coming. What could possibly make this situation worse? ‘I’m afraid it would also mean staying out here for the entire summer. No trips back to the city at the weekend. Linus would need you there at all times.’

No time off at all? Bell was going to have to put her entire life on hold for the summer? She could already hear her friends’ reactions to that.

Hanna gave a small cry as she saw her expression. ‘Bell, I’m so sorry to ask it! But I’ve already negotiated a new salary for you – triple what you’re on. Money means nothing to him. He’ll pay anything, just so long as he has Linus.’

‘It’s not about the money,’ Bell mumbled, looking away, feeling conflicted. She had plans booked in – the festival in Croatia, a mini-break to Copenhagen booked with Tove –

‘I know it’s not. And I know I have no right asking you to give up your entire summer for us. But he’s my son.’ Her voice cracked again, the words splintered and hoarse. ‘And I know you love him too. If you don’t help us, I don’t know what else I can do. Please, Bell.’

Bell looked at her, experiencing up close the full force of a mother’s desperation. She’d never been good at saying ‘no’ at the best of times.

Now was hardly the time to start.

Chapter Thirteen

He opened the shutters and looked down the wide tranche of lawn, able to just make out the sea twinkling through the narrow-legged alders. It was a midnight-blue this morning, the breeze a gentle south-westerly breath. The flowers swayed and nodded in their beds, a nuthatch singing from the aspen tree. Ingarso, his island refuge, had never looked more beautiful and he felt a quiver of anticipation, as though it was a sign that nature, the universe, was on his side today.

He turned away, catching sight of his own shadow cast in the sunny rectangle on the wooden floor. It was elongated and thin, something of the hermit still in its harsh lines and angles. Was he changed enough? Did he still look like the wild man in that hospital bed? Was his son going to run from him again? He closed his eyes, remembering the boy’s golden hair – he had his mother’s colouring, but the curls were his. And those eyes – green, clear, so close to his own –