‘There we go,’ Bex says. Kate turns away, recalling Rob’s explanation. ‘There’s always a rational explanation for these things,’ Bex adds.

‘I guess so.’ Kate’s still not convinced.

‘What you doing in here anyway?’ Bex asks.

‘Looking at this.’ She gestures at the picture behind her.

‘Bloody hell, don’t tell me that’s an original Rossetti,’ Bex says, coming over to study it more closely.

‘There are four versions, apparently,’ Kate says. ‘It’s called How They Met Themselves. Those two people on the right are the doppelgängers.’

‘Complete with a Ready Brek glow around them.’

They both stare at the picture in silence.

‘You want some breakfast?’ Kate asks, leading her out of the office.

‘Wouldn’t mind a bit more of a nosey around first,’ Bex says, lingering at the door. ‘Any more hidden masterpieces?’

Bex loves her art. It’s one reason they’re such good friends.

‘He doesn’t really like people to come in here,’ Kate says, about to close the door behind them. And then a book catches her eye. She takes it off the shelf by the door and looks at the cover: Le Bouc émissaire. She reads the back, conscious that her hands are trembling.

‘What is it?’ Bex asks.

‘A French translation of The Scapegoat by Daphne du Maurier,’ Kate says, flicking through the well-thumbed pages. ‘About doubles.’

Kate replaces it on the shelf, trying not to dwell on the book, what its presence in Rob’s office might mean.

‘Tea?’ she asks, as they walk back down the corridor to the kitchen.

‘Could murder a coffee,’ Bex says, watching as Kate opens one of the cupboards. ‘It’s just a book, Kate. Might not even be his.’

‘It’s in French, Bex,’ Kate says, spooning some coffee powder into the espresso machine. ‘Why read Daphne du Maurier in bloody French?’

‘We’ve been through this,’ Bex says. ‘He’s trying to learn the language.’

Kate can’t hold it together any longer and turns away, her eyes stinging.

‘Oh, Katie,’ Bex says, coming over to comfort her.

‘I hung up on him,’ she says, steadying herself against the sideboard. She’s feeling dizzy. ‘When we were talking earlier.’

‘Why d’you do that?’

‘We were on the phone and then the signal improved and I saw his face and…’

Kate starts to cry, big hot tears, the last few days finally catching up with her.

‘It’s OK,’ Bex says quietly, still holding her.

After a few moments, Kate unpeels herself from Bex’s arms and fetches a glass jar of granola, placing it on the table. She feels better when she’s doing things. She takes out a pot of yoghurt from the fridge, which is now behaving itself.

‘His smile,’ Kate says. ‘It was as if he was mocking me.’

‘Don’t be daft. Rob would never do that.’

‘I know.’ Kate pauses. ‘That’s what’s worrying me.’