‘Who would ever love me looking like this, who would employ me?’ he says, his eyes blazing. ‘He’d trapped me in the house, inside the bloody fairy story, and now he was going to throw me out on to the street. I don’t think so. That’s why I don’t feel a shred of guilt for killing him,’ he says. ‘Yes, that’s right, Iris. It was me who finished him off.’

My heart leaps to my throat. I realize with sickening dread just how much danger I’m in. His face is so close to mine I can feel the warmth of his breath. I daren’t move, daren’t speak.

‘In the end it was you who drove me to action,’ he says, stroking my face. ‘I’d found you again and I was enjoying watching you going about your business. I followed you from the estate agent that afternoon and then, while the old bastard was showing you round, I hid in the hallway and listened. When I heard him say he didn’t have a son, I knew the time had come to kill him. So I came upstairs and pushed the table over, knowing it would make a noise and he’d come running. Always keen to preserve his little secret.’

My body freezes as I recall Geoffrey’s startled expression as he made his excuses and went upstairs.

‘In the end it was easier than I thought,’ he says in a cold, flat voice. ‘I waited at the top of the stairs and when he drew level I reached forward and pushed him down.’

Nausea wells up inside me as I remember Geoffrey lying there, blood pooling underneath his head. I’d put my hand on his neck to check for a pulse and I’d been so traumatized that was the only memory I’d retained, it was all I could see. No wonder I was sure that I’d killed him.

‘It was perfect,’ he says, still stroking my face. ‘That old bastard was dead and you, my lovely Iris, had finally come home.’

Then his face hardens and he moves his hand to my throat, gripping it tightly.

‘But then you ruined it all by running away,’ he whispers.

‘What?’ I gurgle, my throat closing under his grip.

‘I came down the stairs and saw you,’ he says, his mouth just inches from mine. ‘You looked like an angel crouched there in your beautiful pink dress. He was lying at your feet. God, Iris, it was perfect, like a scene from a painting. I tapped your shoulder and you turned and screamed. I tried to talk to you, tried to tell you that everything was okay, that we could be together, but you wouldn’t listen.’