‘I was Hugh and Verity’s nanny in the late Seventies, early Eighties. It was my first job. I was here until their father disappeared.’

Alice stares at Lori, trying to imagine this attractive American woman as a nanny, her heart racing once more. ‘If you hated the place, what made you come back?’

‘Panic over!’ It’s Faith galloping down the stairs. ‘He’s passed out on the bed – I couldn’t stir him, so I’ve locked him in.’

‘That’s a relief,’ Alice says, as Lori moves away, their conversation over, for now.

‘It is.’ Faith nods. ‘I mean he’s a complete prick, but I would hate anything awful to happen to him.’

‘Let’s make sure Gabriela’s in her room, shall we?’ Lori says, her voice sounding stronger. ‘Make sure she’s OK too.’

‘Good plan.’ Christine moves across the lobby. ‘I’ll grab the spare key to Gabriela’s room.’ She leans over the desk, and picks it off a hook. ‘Let’s head upstairs together,’ she goes on, tucking the key into her cardigan pocket.

‘Gabriela’s room is on the upper floor,’ Christine says, leading the way towards the next set of stairs. ‘Her room is next to mine.’

Once there, Christine knocks on the door of room 6. ‘Gabriela, it’s Christine.’ She presses her ear to the door. ‘Gabriela, I have a key and I’m coming in. I hope you’re decent.’

‘She won’t understand a bloody word she’s saying,’ Faith whispers into Alice’s ear.

‘Gabriela, I’m coming in after the count of three … One … two … three … here I come, ready or not.’ Christine unlocks the door, pushes it open, and heads inside. ‘Gabriela?’ she says, flicking on the light.

Within moments, Christine is back on the landing. ‘She’s not there,’ she says with a shrug.

‘We should go downstairs until the police come,’ Alice says, her voice firm – she turns, makes her way down the corridor. Everyone follows as she descends the two flights of stairs and heads into the bar, where they congregate, seemingly afraid of losing one another, afraid of becoming prey to a killer. But as Alice looks at each of them in turn, she can’t help but wonder if the killer is one of them.

Chapter 29

1991

Verity

Verity sat cross-legged on the rug in Hugh’s lounge, watching the toddler dressed in jeans with an elasticated waist, and a bright yellow T-shirt, wander back and forth, clasping a yellow Duplo brick in each tiny fist.

Hugh leant forward on the sofa, elbows on knees, dragging his slim fingers through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, Verity,’ he said, the pain in his voice tangible. ‘What more can I say? I can’t help who I am. How I feel.’