She gazed down at the stranger’s face in confusion. She was very pretty, but who was she? An ex-girlfriend? In that case, why had they been so carefully hidden away – in a filing cabinet Luke knew she never looked in? They had always been open about past relationships: Luke had often pointed out his exes amongst the faces of smiling friends that gazed from his treasured photo albums. She knew about Amy, his first serious girlfriend from school, and Jade, the one he’d had at uni, and all the others in between and since, but this woman was definitely someone she’d never seen before – she felt sure she would have remembered such a beautiful face. If she was just someone Luke had had a casual fling with before they’d met, then why hide her photographs like this?

The realization seeped into her like cold water. This was no past love, of course, but someone from his present. The hurt spilled through her, biting and acidic. Who was she? Had he loved her? It was the callousness she couldn’t bear; the deceit of hiding the pictures in their home, presumably to look at during stolen moments while her back was turned. Clara stood very still, staring down at the wide smile, the dazzling blue eyes. She hadn’t really known Luke at all, she saw now, had been like a stupid, trusting child, entirely oblivious to what had been going on right in front of her face, blindly believing in a love that didn’t even exist.

At that moment the intercom buzzed loudly, startling her from her thoughts. ‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Clara?’

She frowned, not recognizing the voice. ‘Sorry, who …?’

There was a crackle of static and then, ‘It’s Tom. Luke’s brother.’

She was so taken aback that she stared at the intercom in blank surprise before pressing the button to let him up. What on earth was he doing here? He rarely came to London, and he had certainly never casually called round like this before; he and Luke didn’t have that sort of relationship. Perhaps he had heard about the break-in, maybe Rose had spoken to Anderson already. Yet surely he wouldn’t have had time to drive down from Norwich? The sound of footsteps followed by a sharp knock on her door a few inches from her face jerked her from her thoughts and, just in time, she remembered the photographs she was still holding. Hurriedly she stuffed them back in their envelope and into a kitchen drawer, gripped by a sudden shame – that Luke had cared so little about her, that he had felt her worthy of so little respect.

‘Tom,’ she said dully when she opened the door. ‘This is a surprise …’