‘So,’ Catherine said impatiently, dropping her voice, ‘let’s have a recap of where we are. Once you’ve got it, we’ll keep the shooter for the final showdown – if you ever finally get your bloody act together and sort it. In the meantime, you’re still doing what I told you to?’

More a statement than a question. He hesitated, and she jumped down his throat: ‘What’s wrong with you! Why aren’t you?’

‘I am! I am, Cath, honest.’ He told her what he’d managed to do just the other day, and was rewarded with a faint smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

Graeme, however, had been stalling. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get Catherine out of there – far from it – but there was always the risk that it would all go badly wrong, and instead of getting her out, he would end up back inside himself – for good this time. They wouldn’t let him anywhere near Catherine. Neither of them would ever get the cottage, the dream life.

Graeme took a deep breath. ‘Cath … are you sure it’s worth it? I mean, darlin’, if you keep your head down they might review your case and you can get out legitimately.’

Catherine’s face darkened and her eyes narrowed, reminding Graeme of a glowering cartoon villain. ‘You chickening out on me?’ she demanded. Her voice compressed to a terrifying hiss. ‘Because if you’re not with me … you’re against me.’

She didn’t need to say any more.

‘I’m with you, babe, all the way, I swear. I love you,’ said Graeme, the words falling over themselves as they tumbled out of him. ‘You know I’d do anything for you. Anything!’

‘I know,’ Catherine said, smugly.

7

Pete

Pete was out of breath, having cycled from his workshop to Minstead House at high speed. His shirt was clinging unpleasantly to his chest. The last few hundred metres of the driveway were up a steep hill, and then he had to cycle around to the back entrance and up the rutted gravel pathway that ran along the side of the estate up to Meredith’s cottage.

Propping his bike against the iron railings boxing in her garden, he hung his helmet by its chin strap over one of the handlebars and ran up to hammer on the front door.

‘Mez, it’s me!’

Meredith unlocked the door, shooting back the heavy Victorian bolt to admit him into the gloomy porchway. He put his arms tight around her, resting his chin on top of her head.

‘Why have you bolted the door? You’re not seriously worried that someone’s done this to him? Any guy his age could have a heart attack; it happens all the time.’

She didn’t move except to bury her face further into his chest.