She stops suddenly, looking like she could bite off her tongue.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Millie,’ I say. ‘There’s no such thing as nothing with you.’

She won’t look me in the eye. I know if I ask, if I ask, she’ll tell me.

It’s the closest I’ve come to breaking the golden rule that’s kept us safe all these years: our marriage works precisely because so much of what binds us together is left unsaid.

What did you do, Millie?

If I ask, it’ll change everything.

Millie, what did you do?

chapter 38

millie

A hand suddenly grabs my shoulder and I turn, expecting to find a journalist thrusting a camera in my face.

It takes me a moment to recognise the woman behind me as Harper. Her hair is caught back in a messy ponytail, and without a scrap of make-up she looks almost as young and vulnerable as Meddie.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, shaking her off.

‘Where is he?’

‘Felix? I’ve no idea,’ I say.

‘You must know!’ Harper cries. ‘You have to tell me!’

I glance across the road. At least a dozen journalists and photographers are camped on the narrow pavement outside the Glass House. Even as we watch, a Sky News van arrives and kerb-crawls down the street, looking for somewhere to park. The house has an oddly abandoned air: all the blinds are up, and the letterbox is jammed with junk mail. It’s clear no one’s home. It looks deserted, as if no one’s lived in it for years.

I don’t know what I was thinking coming here again.

A couple of snappers recognise Harper and start to take photos. We’re attracting way too much attention.

I grasp the girl’s arm and propel her past the journalists and down the road to my car. ‘Get in,’ I say.

She climbs into the Audi and pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them like a small child. I want to tell her to keep her thick-soled white trainers off my nappa leather, but even I can appreciate now’s not the time.

‘You invested money with Copper Beech?’ I ask, hazarding a guess.

She nods.

‘When?’

‘A few days after I ran into Felix outside the divorce lawyer’s office,’ she admits, her chin pressed to her knees. ‘When I heard he’d pulled out of the sale. I called and told him we needed the house move to go ahead or our sponsors would ditch us. He knew we had a cashflow problem. He said he could help!’

‘You blackmailed him,’ I say flatly.

‘He said it was safe! He said everyone put their money in Copper Beech! We’d make at least ten percent in less than three months!’