She had a weapon! Albeit a very small one, but it was better than nothing; a tiny claw of a gardening knife, folded in on itself like a curved penknife. It had been in the side pocket of the case of the faulty secateurs. She’d forgotten all about it until Caitlin had unwittingly reminded her.

With her right elbow pressed close to her side, since Caitlin was slightly to the left and behind her, Meredith sneaked her fingers into the pocket and fished out the knife. It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She dropped it into the more accessible side pocket of the dungarees, then slid her hand in after it, clutching it tightly until its plastic shaft was as warm as her feverish skin.

Caitlin hadn’t noticed.

Meredith’s heart pounded so hard that she could feel its throb in her throat, like a drum beat on the cool summer night air. If she could flip open the knife fast enough, and undetected, there was hope.

They walked for five minutes or so, downhill, towards the fringes of the Minstead Estate, through the orchard and out the other side to where the rough parkland began. They were heading, Meredith realised, towards the tennis court and the old swimming pool. On one of the first Lady Minstead’s whims, the pool had been built quite far from the house – apparently she wanted the daily walk through the grounds to get to it, and didn’t want it to be visible from the house. The Minstead House Trust had latterly decided that, since it was of no interest to the general public, it wasn’t worth maintaining, and it had been abandoned once the house had been opened to the public two decades before. Meredith often thought what a shame that was; she’d have loved a lunchtime swim during her workday.

Nobody had played on the tennis court for years either. It stood, net-less, weeds sprouting from fissures in the tarmac, the white lines blurred and obscured by time and bird crap. Meredith and Caitlin walked across it now, the light from Caitlin’s phone screen bobbing ahead of them. Meredith could see another faint flickering light coming from the window of the pool house. Her heart leaped in anticipation then cramped with pain. Was this where Pete had been all this time, so close by, practically hidden in plain sight? Why hadn’t the police searched the grounds? Why hadn’t she?

Caitlin heaved open the heavy pool house door, one of those old lead-paned glass ones. It gave an exaggerated haunted-house creak. ‘We’re here,’ she called out, quietly, presumably to the person who’d sent her that text earlier.