I assume Carl will make his way back to the estate agent’s. It’s two minutes from the optician’s if I go through Market Walk. I estimate it’ll take him twenty minutes to get there. I check my watch. Lunch break is over, but maybe I can orchestrate a reason to leave for a little while. I could pretend to get a call from Carl who needs me to sign something urgently.

I suddenly want to know exactly what’s just gone on. And I don’t want to wait until this evening to get my key back.

I’m going there now.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Amber

I wait opposite the estate agent’s, tucked just out of sight in the doorway of a charity shop. I catch a glimpse of Carl hurrying in, so I quickly cross the street and go in after him.

‘Oh, hi, Suzanne. I was hoping to catch Carl?’ I ask, looking around the office. He must’ve gone straight through to the back as I can’t see him now.

‘Well, that was good timing, he’s just walked in. Although, he seems to be in a rush to leave again …’ Suzanne frowns and her attention drifts to her computer screen. Her long, square-tipped fake nails tap on the keys. ‘Hmmm …’ She doesn’t elaborate further. I feel the urge to prompt her.

‘Hmmm?’ I repeat. ‘Something up?’

‘Oh, no, no.’ Suzanne’s face snaps back to its usual helpful, cheerful form. ‘It’s nothing.’ She smiles, but there’s something behind it. Confusion? ‘I’ll go and get him for you.’ She scoots her chair out, the wheels squealing, and stands up. I follow as she walks to the back of the office and opens the door, which I assume leads to the room where they have breaks, like ours. The door isn’t open long, but I catch a flash of Carl as Suzanne steps through. He’s crouching in front of a safe; I hear the jangle of keys as Carl takes some from it.

Before I can see more, the door closes. I stand for a moment, straining to hear their conversation. Then, the door flings open and Carl rushes past me.

‘Oh, hello, Amber. So sorry – I’m in such a rush to get to the next appointment; can I catch up with you later?’ And with three strides he’s almost at the door.

‘I was only wanting to ask how the second viewing went?’ I say to his back. ‘And get my key from you.’

‘I’m going to be very late – again, my apologies – I don’t want to appear rude. Suzanne will sort it.’

He disappears through the door and I see him practically run past the window.

Suzanne offers an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about that, Mrs Miller. He hates to be late …’

The fact she trails off tells me all I need to know; even she thought that he was rude.