‘You ought to get that,’ Ajay says, writing something in his notebook. ‘I’ll pack up.’

She walks over to the bedroom, concerned by Ajay’s downbeat demeanour, and answers the phone.

‘How are you feeling? Any better?’

It’s Rob, but her heart doesn’t soar. Not like it used to when he would ring her in Cornwall and she’d lie back on the bed, listening to his plans for her art, a possible solo exhibition in London, his love for her. She can’t trust him any more, can’t be sure that it’s him.

‘OK,’ she says, her voice determinedly neutral. She’d forgotten about the device around her neck, but it starts to feel tight again.

‘How did you get on?’ he asks. ‘With the final test?’

Is it even Rob’s voice? She doesn’t trust herself any more.

‘I’ve just finished,’ she says, suspecting that he already knows the result. She runs her fingers over the neckband, hoping to find a clip so that she can release it. The data from it will already have been downloaded onto Ajay’s laptop.

‘Did you spot him?’ he asks.

Him? Wasn’t it Rob in the footage?

‘What’s going on, Rob? The blinds are still down here.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He pauses. ‘There were problems with the system last night, but it’s all sorted now and you’re right, the blinds should be up.’

‘But they’re not,’ she says, trying again to find a way to release the neckband.

It’s a while before he speaks.

‘I think someone’s still trying to harm you,’ he says, his voice heavy with concern.

She doesn’t believe him. Not after the scribbled note from Ajay. There are too many unanswered questions. Why can’t she make outgoing calls on the landline? And where’s her mobile phone?

‘Who’s trying to harm me?’ she asks.

‘The same as before. People you identified.’

She still doesn’t believe him.

‘I can look after myself, Rob,’ she says, glancing through the door at Ajay, who has finished packing up and is waiting for her. ‘And he’s dead now, the man in Cornwall who tried to kill me.’

‘There are others,’ he says.

She hesitates. Maybe she’s being naive and there are still people out there who want to harm her. She should be grateful that Rob, if it’s him, is being so protective.

‘Am I allowed out of here now?’ she asks. ‘I’ve passed the test.’ You’re ready.

‘You must be patient.’

‘How about the roof terrace?’ She just wants some fresh air. And perhaps the possibility of escape, however high the walls.

‘My car’s waiting for you downstairs,’ Rob says. ‘Same driver as yesterday – you’ll recognise him.’ Putin. ‘You’ve found your passport, I hope? The driver will accompany you.’

‘Rob, this is crazy, I don’t need accompanying—’