‘What? No, Emily, God, no.’ He takes my hands in his, his palms warm against my icy fingers. ‘I think you’re a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. I think you had a tough time with Harry, you told me that yourself, that he was violent towards you, that he threatened you, and I think maybe you’re anxious now that you’re finally happy, that someone will find some way to ruin it. I promise you, they won’t.’

‘That doesn’t explain how Caro’s photograph suddenly appeared on the mantelpiece though, does it?’ Rupert’s hand is stroking my hair and I have to fight down the urge to wriggle away from his touch. I can’t help feeling as though he is trivialising this. This isn’t about Harry; this is about us.

‘Well, who else was here today, who could have done it?’

‘Only Sadie and Amanda,’ I say, quietly. ‘They both came over for lunch, after the yoga class. That’s when Amanda said she thought she saw Anya leaving.’

‘Well,’ Rupert gets to his feet, picking up the photo frame. ‘It definitely wouldn’t be either of them.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘What?’

‘Are you sure? That neither Sadie nor Amanda would have put that photograph on display? Because at the end of the day, Rupert, between the letter calling me a bitch and this – not to mention someone changing our wedding song – it feels as though someone is trying to come between us. Why not one of them? Sadie was Caro’s best friend, and Amanda was her sister-in-law.’

‘Out of the question,’ Rupert says, and there is a hint of finality in his tone, ‘you’re being ridiculous, Emily. Sadie was Caro’s best friend, now she’s yours. Amanda was Caro’s sister-in-law, and now she’s yours. No one is trying to come between us; the only thing that’s going to come between us is you thinking that everyone is out to get us.’

I say nothing, blinking back hot tears as I try to process Rupert’s words. His reaction is not what I was expecting, and I don’t know how to respond. In the end, once I am sure I have my tears under control, I get to my feet trying not to let him see how he’s made me feel. How little and pathetic. ‘Of course, you’re right. I’m just being silly. I think I’d better go to bed. I’ve had a bit of a long day.’ I brush past him, pausing as I get to the bottom of the stairs. ‘If it’s OK with you, I’d prefer it you could put the photograph away, or at least display it somewhere a little less… prominent.’ Then I turn and hurry up the stairs, without waiting for an answer.