Jennifer and Izzy were the last to arrive, both of them blank-faced and silent. Jennifer took her place at the end of the table, next to Alistair and her boys, while Izzy edged past the chairbacks to the last empty spot at the other end. As she passed me she paused, touching me lightly on the shoulder.

‘Kate?’ she said gently, almost apologetically. ‘We need to talk.’

I felt a jolt, as if I’d just grabbed a live wire.

‘OK.’ My voice almost cracked. ‘What about?’

She held my eyes for a moment, then dropped her gaze.

‘Tell you in a bit. After we’ve eaten.’ She went to the empty chair at the head of the table and sat down.

My stomach churned as I went back to my plate.

‘We’d best tuck in before that arrives,’ said Alistair, gesturing towards the mass of dark clouds to the south. ‘There’s a storm coming.’

Chapter 63

63

My appetite had disappeared. I put a couple of pieces of bread on my plate anyway, just to give my hands something to do, reaching for a sharp knife and cutting thin slices of Roquefort cheese that I had no intention of eating.

We need to talk.

So this was it, the moment of truth, the confession. The moment when she finally came out with it, finally put me out of my misery. I felt as if I had been waiting for it for months, for years, but in reality it had been less than a week since discovering the messages on Sean’s phone. I had sworn to find the evidence, to smoke her out. And this is what it came down to.

I felt sick, scared, angry. Numb.

Conversation around the table was muted. A muttered exchange between Jake and Ethan, Daniel asking me about the pizza toppings. Odette’s voice piercingly loud as she pointed out – yet again – all the things on the table that she didn’t like and wouldn’t eat, which seemed to include virtually everything apart from what was on her mother’s plate. Then Rowan coaxed her into eating a small slice of tomato. Odette chewed it for a few seconds and promptly spat it out onto the tablecloth.

Sean’s eyes were fixed on Alistair at the far end of the table with a frown of barely concealed suspicion as if he was waiting for the slightest reason, the slightest provocation, to restart last night’s hostilities. But if he was the least bit bothered, Alistair wasn’t letting it show as he uncorked a bottle of Faugères and filled nearby glasses.

We need to talk.

Each word was as heavy as lead.

I took a sip of wine, the taste bitter in my mouth.