She’d feel even better after a shower. It was almost nine. There were no messages, but she didn’t really expect one from Jack. He’d arrange to have the car released and drive it home. ‘Oh, hell!’ she groaned. He’d have to come home first. Since he rarely drove, he refused to weigh down his key ring with a cumbersome car key. The spare was in a bedroom drawer.

A brief thought that she could bring it to the hotel was brushed away without hesitation. She’d done too much running around yesterday. Today, she wasn’t leaving the house, and going upstairs was as far as she was moving.

After her shower, intent on a day at home, she slipped on a pair of pyjamas and tied her wet hair up in a loose knot. She thought it might be a good idea to have a pot of coffee ready for when Jack eventually arrived home and went down to put on the kettle.

She wasn’t hungry but she needed to eat. Taking a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee over to the table by the window, she sat and ate as she looked out at the garden. It was raining, the window streaked with rivulets of water. Perfect staying-at-home weather. She might even catch up with programmes she’d recorded and books she’d planned to read.

At ten thirty, Jack still hadn’t made an appearance and she was beginning to worry. She’d parked her car in front of maintenance doors, the hotel might need access. They might decide to have her car towed; that would be a nightmare and cost a fortune.

Picking up her mobile, she rang Jack’s number. It went straight to answerphone. Of course, if he were in the car park, there may be no signal. She sent him a text, ring me, and waited, tapping the phone against her chin.

When he hadn’t rung by eleven, she stood and paced the room, wondering what she should do. She’d almost decided to go to the hotel when the house phone rang. It was such an unusual occurrence that she stared at it for a moment. Then she smiled. Of course, Jack probably hadn’t charged his mobile.

‘Jack?’ she said, picking up the phone.

‘Hello?’

It was a female voice. Frowning, Molly said, ‘I’m sorry, can I help you?’

‘This is Harriet Summers, I’m the manager of the Hyde Hotel. I’m hoping to speak to Jack Chatwell.’

Join the queue, Molly wanted to say. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not here. May I take a message?’

There was silence for a moment before the manager said quietly, ‘Is that Mrs Chatwell?’

‘Yes, Molly Chatwell.’