‘Aaargh,’ she said, the bowl dropping from her hand to bounce from the sofa to the floor in a messy stream of milk-sodden cornflakes. She no longer knew what to think. Fanshawe had been adamant that she put the safety chain on the door, maybe that was a hint that she should keep Jack out? But if she were in danger, shouldn’t he have suggested she go somewhere safer? Perhaps, that’s what she should do, go and stay with one of her friends. Her brain was whirling, she couldn’t make a decision, not even to save her life.

She remembered she hadn’t put the safety chain back on, and choked back a half laugh, half cry as she struggled to her feet. The aches and pains were making themselves felt with a vengeance, forcing her to hobble and slide a hand along the wall in the hallway for support. She was halfway to the front door when, without warning, it opened. She squealed in fright, stumbled backwards and would have fallen if she hadn’t caught hold of the banisters, clutching at them frantically.

‘Jack?’

But it wasn’t her husband who pushed open the door.

33

Molly stared at the pasty-faced man who stood on the doorstep and shook her head, confused.

‘What are you doing here? Where did you get the key to our house?’

‘Are you going to ask me in or leave me standing here? It’s raining in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Charlie Forster said, smiling beguilingly.

Molly frowned. She was wary of beguiling smiles these days. ‘Of course, come in.’

She stood back as far as she could, but he still brushed against her as he passed, drops from his raincoat wetting the front of her silk blouse. He was close enough that she could smell the nose-crinkling acrid smell of sweat and caught Forster’s eyes sliding down her. Why was he here? She wanted to tell him to leave, but panic robbed her voice and before it returned, he’d walked through to the living room.

Taking a shaky steadying breath, she followed. ‘What do you want?’ She didn’t ask him to take a seat, she didn’t need to; he’d already taken his coat off, hung it across the back of a chair and flopped onto the sofa. Molly wrapped her arms around her waist and watched in annoyance as his coat dripped onto the floor. ‘Charlie, what are you doing here?’

He took a crumpled tissue from his trouser pocket and wiped rainwater from his face. ‘Awful evening, I didn’t want to come but Jack insisted.’ Charlie threw the sodden tissue onto the coffee table.

‘Jack!’ As if the name released her, Molly moved forward, took the seat opposite and looked at him. ‘He’s at your place?’