For a moment Rachel stood still, entirely numb, trying to work it out. Under her arm was a newspaper – just one of many – detailing all the malpractices this woman had performed in order to get her way, over and over again. Yet here she was, in front of Rachel, apparently preparing to harvest the fruit of one such action as if nothing was troubling her at all. That couldn’t really be the case, could it? The lighthouse couldn’t go to McCreedy, not after Toby’s efforts to show the damage she had been prepared to inflict in order to get it? Where was the justice in that?

Anger bubbled in Rachel’s gut. She stalked up the hill towards the little knot of people, her eyes fixed on her nemesis.

‘What are you doing here?’ Rachel demanded. ‘You’re trespassing, all of you. Leave, or I’ll call the police.’

Dora regarded her with an amused look. ‘Good luck with that,’ she said, her tone entirely nonchalant. ‘They probably want to talk to you anyway. Or have they done that already? Got bail somehow, did you?’

Rachel felt her new certainties slipping away from her. She had thought Toby’s work would change things, set them right, but—

‘In any case,’ Dora went on, ‘let’s see what the actual owner of this place thinks about whether I’m trespassing or not, shall we? I’ll give Trudy Goodwin a call, ask which of us she thinks ought to be here. Who do you suppose she’ll think has the right – the person about to hand her a fortune for this property? Or the woman who – allegedly – had a hand in Cullen’s death?’

Rachel felt sick. She stared as McCreedy reached into her pocket for her phone. It obviously wasn’t there, or in the bag she carried.

‘My assistant has my phone,’ McCreedy said, with a faint curse, ‘but in any case I don’t think it takes a genius to work out what the answer will be, do you? Have you packed yet? Because believe me, the minute the deal’s signed, I want you as far away from this place as you can run.’

Rachel swallowed, her mouth dry. The two women stared at each other. The silence was disturbed by the raucous tone of a phone ringing. One of the suited men behind Dora reached into his pocket. Then another phone rang, and another. Texts began to bleep, too, a cacophony of noise as the gaggle of businessmen received simultaneous calls. Dora frowned, turning, as one of them held his phone to his ear. He listened for a moment, frowned, looked up at Dora—

‘Something’s happening,’ he said. ‘I’m being told to check the news sites.’

‘And me,’ said another.

A shout came from below them. Rachel turned and saw Dora’s assistant struggling to run up the hill in heels. She had a phone one hand.

‘Ms McCreedy,’ she called, puffing with effort. ‘Ms McCreedy, you need to see this—’

By now the group of businessmen surrounding Dora were all on their phones, either talking or frantically scrolling. None of them looked happy.