Everything had been perfect then, hadn’t it? Everything. A beautiful wife, a gorgeous son, a new life. What he’d always dreamed of.

David had been born here, spent the first five years of his life in a small village outside Aylsham, and thereafter enjoyed childhood holidays on the coast. So when he and Angelina had talked seriously of escaping London, Norfolk had seemed the natural choice.

They’d bought a pretty farmhouse five miles from Foltesham and put a huge amount of time, effort and money into renovating it. Angelina had been in her element, choosing wallpaper and curtains; she’d been happy. She’d seemed happy, anyway. Rory had settled in at St Stephen’s Prep, a far cry from the confined city school with its two feet of playground and choking London air. That had been fantastic, watching his son starting to embrace country life, his cheeks growing pinker, his thin frame filling out.

The only downside to it all, of course, was the long, daily commute David had to endure to his desk in the City, but he didn’t even mind that. He would have done anything to keep Angelina and Rory happy.

Angelina, too, had blossomed, throwing herself into her new life, making new friends from the group of mothers she met in the school car park. Many of them had similarly escaped the London drudge, seeking a better life in the country.

She had never been busier. Book clubs, the PTA, ladies’ lunches and tennis lessons filled the long days while David was at work. She invited like-minded couples round for supper, who then returned the favour, and gradually their social life became more and more active.

Going to dinner parties, David was aware that their new friends’ houses tended to be grander than their own. The women talked a lot about designer clothes, designer shoes and holidays in Mauritius or the Caribbean; the men boasted of their wine cellars and the ‘pair of Purdeys’ they’d bought for the season’s shoot.

He felt no envy. Coming from relatively humble beginnings, David felt he’d achieved a lot. He was perfectly happy in his comfortable house with his wife and son. At the time he’d believed Angelina was, too.

Looking back, he probably should have realised. Should have sensed what was going on from Angelina’s wistful remarks: ‘Oh darling, Nicole’s husband’s just bought her the most wonderful new four-wheel-drive Mercedes!’ And, ‘Everyone seems to have rented villas in Tuscany for the summer; wouldn’t it be gorgeous if we could too?’

She began saving the property pages from the local paper, placing them discreetly on his knee to point out a particular house that had recently come onto the market. Before long David began to realise that Angelina was firmly hinting their lifestyle should match that of their smart, moneyed friends by taking a step up the property ladder themselves.

Considering Angelina had been a beauty therapist living in a terraced house in Penge when he’d met her, David felt, justifiably, that he’d already raised her some considerable distance.