‘Just give me the log on and I’ll do it online,’ she says, a trace of irritation in her voice. ‘You did say you’d do it last week, Rupert, and I’m worried they’ll cut us off. Give me the bank login and I’ll sort it out before you forget, set up a direct debit so it’s done for the future.’

And because he was busy, stressed with work, because she made his heart flip over when he looked at her and sometimes – most of the time – he felt the blood shoot to his groin when she smiled at him, he gave it to her.

Rupert goes into their bedroom, but he can see before he’s even looked properly that she is gone. Caro’s jewellery box stands empty on the dressing table, the en suite is cleared of cleanser and make-up, her hangers swing empty in the wardrobe. Groaning, Rupert slams the wardrobe door closed, blaming himself before a wave of fury washes over him. How dare she do this to him? He swipes the phone screen, dials a number and waits for it to connect. Pacing the floor downstairs in the sitting room, Rupert tries and fails to see the signs that Emily wasn’t who she said she was. That he was taken in so completely. He is lost in thought, when just ten minutes after making the call, the doorbell rings and with a looming sense of déjà vu, Rupert opens the door to the police.

‘Mr Rupert Milligan?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Come in.’ Rupert stands to one side to let them through. ‘Thank you so much for coming out to me so quickly. I can give you a list of everything taken, I’ll do anything I can to help you catch her.’

The two officers exchange a quizzical look before the taller one, an officer that Rupert realizes with a sinking feeling that he has seen before, says, ‘Mr Milligan, we are arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Mrs Caroline Osbourne-Milligan.’

Chapter Thirty-Five

Early September, and it’s been six months since I fled Rupert’s house, taking everything I could and putting in a call to the police before I turned my back on the house for good. Today is our one-year wedding anniversary. I should have been spending it somewhere warm, having let Rupert pay for some extravagant holiday to celebrate. Instead, he is languishing in a cell and I am sitting on the beach in Devon, the home of my new life, enjoying the early autumn sunshine.