It was always bigger than Amber. It was bigger than all of us: those involved in this terrible affair. I came to think of it as the Pyramid of Power because of the old pyramid scheme selling model – that one person on the top who benefitted from each person below them. The one who held all the cards.

I couldn’t stop the inevitable outcome, couldn’t prevent the hurt. No one could come out totally unscathed, but for some, the possible recriminations were far worse than for others.

For a few, it would be catastrophic.

Of course, once that became obvious, I’d wanted it all to miss me. I tried hard to divert it. Then something else occurred: an uninvited, unexpected twist to the tale. And things took another turn …

Chapter Forty-Three

Amber

Richard is a little jittery. He hurries me into the restaurant and as we approach our table, sits down first, his back to the other diners.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask as I shuffle along the bench-type seat that runs along the river-facing window.

‘Yes. Course.’ He takes a menu and opens it. His face is now blocked from my view. I take the other one and begin browsing. I already know what I want, though, as I checked the online menu when I booked the table. I like to be prepared.

‘I don’t even know the types of food you like,’ I say. It’s a sudden thought, and strange in a way. We’d been chatting for months before we met in person, and had covered every subject under the sun, or that’s how it felt. But I guess the everyday, more mundane things, like food, didn’t seem to matter as much as the bigger, deep and meaningful conversation about life, politics, the state of the world, what had gone on in the news. Music and books were always our go-to discussions. But never food. And while we’ve eaten takeaways, I’d always ordered from the same Chinese Nick used. I never queried it and hadn’t really thought about the fact Richard ordered the same chicken curry dish each time. I don’t remember ever asking him if he’d prefer Indian, or Italian.

And now I’m scrutinising this, I realise that even when we’d been in a hotel, Richard ordered room service – usually whatever I wanted. For some reason, right at this moment, I feel this is telling. I do, however, remember he enjoys red wine. Which I can’t stand. At least that’s something I know about him. I should make more of an effort to find out everything I can about him. I’m going to be living with him, after all.