The psychiatrist Kate saw in France was adamant that she was never suffering from the rare delusion. And who was she to argue with a Frenchman about Capgras, given it was named after a psychiatrist from Toulouse? Rob’s talk of doppelgängers undoubtedly messed with her head at a time when she was suggestible and suffering from feelings of disconnectedness, but the psychiatrist also had another explanation.

‘One day I just woke up and saw Rob for who he really was,’ she says.

‘I like that,’ Strover says.

‘Me too.’

When she was well enough, when her powers of recognition returned, she was able to see right through him, beyond Rob’s public face and into his dark heart. It means that, in a way, she was right when she thought she saw an impostor in his tennis gear in Cornwall, heading off from Truro station, asleep in his London apartment. He was an impostor, always was, whether he was in her left field of vision or her right. And she was too, for a while, living a life that wasn’t hers.

‘Does that computer normally come on like that?’ Strover says, clearly troubled by the screen. A green light has lit up next to the small camera.

‘Better ask Bex,’ Kate says.

After finding Bex and introducing her to Strover, Kate slips out to the garden. Her plan is to live here for the foreseeable future – Bex says she can stay as long as she likes. Jake is camping up in the woods – the boat is too much of a wreck to be salvaged – but he’s just had some good news from a publisher. There’s some interest in a new novel idea he shared with his agent while she was with her mum. A high-tech spin on an old gothic trope, apparently. He’s already talking of getting another boat, wants her to help him choose it. As she says, early days.

If Rob hadn’t died, Hart says he would have been charged with two murders and twelve abductions, including her own. At first she pleaded with DI Hart in the French hospital that he keep looking for Rob. She was still convinced that Rob had been replaced, that he couldn’t have been responsible for such depravity. That the last five months had been one elaborate play-act at her expense was too much to comprehend. It took her a long while to absorb Hart’s lengthy and patient explanations that there never was a double called Gilmour. He also gave her a book: The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner by James Hogg. It’s the copy she picked up in Rob’s office but never got around to reading. One of the Devon and Cornwall police officers who searched the house fancies himself as a bit of a bookworm and told Hart there’s a possible connection. She’ll read it one day, when she’s feeling stronger.