Poor woman. Kate can’t bear to think what she’s already endured, the pain that lies ahead for both of them.

‘What have you done with him?’ she asks quietly.

‘Who?’ he asks, taking the car key and remote from Putin.

‘Rob.’

He shakes his head and turns to Catrine. ‘Kate appears to be suffering from a rare delusion called Capgras,’ he says to her. ‘At least that’s what the esteemed Dr Varma believed.’

Believed? She doesn’t like the past tense. Ajay also had his doubts, said how rare Capgras was. It was hardly a formal diagnosis. She thinks back to their conversation in the London apartment. Either the place was bugged, as she thought, or Ajay briefed him afterwards.

‘Sufferers are convinced that the one they love most in life has been replaced by an impostor,’ he continues, holding up his hands in innocent protest.

‘Why are we wearing these collars?’ Kate asks, touching her neck. ‘Rob would never have done this. It’s barbaric. Demeaning.’

She looks at him again, searching his blue eyes for a trace of the man she loved, in case she’s got this all wrong.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Not everyone understands what I’m trying to do here…’

Everyone? She glances around. The place feels empty, isolated. Up behind the main house, further along the headland, another building, long and low, is cut into the side of the cliffs and linked by a gravel pathway. It looks more industrial, like a warehouse. She tries to picture the replica property in Cornwall. The warehouse here has replaced the tennis court. Behind it, the blades of a solitary turbine turn idly in the sea breeze.

‘… but it soon becomes clear why they’ve been chosen,’ he adds, blinking.

Catrine throws her a look, her eyes dark with meaning.

‘And, really, there’s no point in trying to run,’ he says.

Jesus. He saw the note, knows that Ajay tried to warn her. She prays that Ajay is OK.

‘I need your passport,’ he says.

She doesn’t hear his words at first, or at least she doesn’t understand their meaning, and he has to ask her again. She finds the passport in her bag and hands it to him.

‘The driver will show you around,’ he says, giving her passport to Catrine. ‘We have to go.’

He steps forward to kiss her. She jerks her head away as he holds her firmly by the wrist. The neckband remote is in his other hand. She wants to spit in his face, but he doesn’t try to kiss her.

‘Ajay said that you’ve made a full recovery,’ he whispers in her ear. He’s sounding so like Rob again. Tender, kind. And then he speaks again, this time in fluent French. ‘Je n’ai jamais voulu tomber amoureux de toi.’