Stories that turned out to be untrue. Malicious lies, circulated by an old flame with an agenda of her own, someone I’d never even met.

But malicious or not, the effect had been catastrophic. When Rowan confronted him with her explosive accusation, their marriage had unravelled in spectacular fashion. Henry, a faithful husband driven away by his wife’s mistrust, eventually sliding into the very affair of which he had been innocent before Rowan confronted him.

They separated three months later.

‘I wanted to say sorry again, Rowan,’ I said. ‘For what happened with Henry, the way it happened. I shouldn’t have done what I did.’

‘Nonsense. You did what you thought was right at the time.’

‘I should have known, should have found out before I told you.’

She leaned forward, put a hand on my arm. ‘It was up to me what I did with that information, and up to him how he reacted. It wasn’t your fault, you were just the messenger. Anyway, it was probably for the best.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Henry didn’t actually want children, not really. So if I was still with him today, I wouldn’t have Odette.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.’

‘You’re worried about history repeating itself, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Terrified.’

I had been wrong before. I couldn’t afford to be wrong again.

Chapter 51

51

The house was eerily quiet when we returned from the village. Sean, Russ and Izzy had taken the girls to a craft market in the nearby village of Murviel-lès-Béziers, while Alistair had volunteered to stay behind at the villa and look after the boys. But there was no sign of them when we got back. I checked the garden and the pool area, the gazebo and the games room. All deserted.

Eventually, I found Daniel alone in his bedroom. He was on his bed, lying with his back to me as I came in.

‘Daniel?’

‘Hi,’ he said, without turning around.

‘What have you been up to? You OK?’

‘Hmm.’

I went around to the bed and sat down. ‘Wow, looks like you’ve nearly finished your book, we’ll have to—’

I stopped, putting a hand to my mouth. There were cuts and grazes up his forearms, dirt and blood on his knees and shins. More dirt caked under his fingernails and on the front of his shorts. A smear of blood on his chin, his eyes red from crying. His favourite Harry Potter T-shirt was ripped at the neckline and under the arm was a long tear that went almost to his waist.

He looked as if he had been in a fight.

‘What on earth happened to you, Daniel? Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’

‘You look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. How did you get these cuts?’

‘Fell down.’

‘Where?’

‘Outside.’