It was tempting to put off ringing Petra until the following day, but Molly dialled her number. It went to voicemail again but this time she left a message. ‘I wondered if you’d managed to speak to Nicole,’ she said. ‘I’ll be here all evening if you want to give me a call.’ Throwing the phone on the seat beside her, she switched on the TV and sat back to watch one of her favourite property shows.

The programme was almost over by the time she heard the front door open. She waited for Jack to come through, but to her surprise he went straight upstairs. It gave her the opportunity to watch the end of the programme, but her heart wasn’t in it. He’d know she was there, waiting, she almost always was. He’d probably had a tough day. Or a tougher day. She should have made more of an effort to contact Petra.

Scrambling from the sofa, she went to organise dinner, taking the containers from the bag and arranging them in the microwave in one lot. It would take longer but there’d be less faffing. Setting the timer, she pressed start.

She knew she’d regret it in the morning, but she opened the fridge and took out a bottle of wine. A half a glass would help her relax. The half was gone, and she’d poured another before the door opened. She opened her mouth to ask if he were okay, shutting it again without saying a word when she saw how pale and drawn he looked.

‘You’re very late. Bad day?’ She injected as much sympathy as she could into her voice, feeling her heart ache for him, for whatever was going on. ‘I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.’

‘There’s nothing wrong,’ he snapped, reaching for the wine bottle. He filled a glass and drank half, his eyes never meeting Molly’s.

She wondered if her friend with the turquoise eyes had contacted Jack somehow. Perhaps his bad mood, pallor and inability to meet her eyes was merely disgust because he knew about her futile seduction of a stranger. Her stomach churning, she watched him for a moment as he sipped the rest of his wine.

But when he turned to her, when he looked at her at last, his expression was guarded but not condemning. He didn’t look at her with disgust… maybe she was being oversensitive.

‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked, his hand going up to cover a yawn. ‘Sorry, I didn’t sleep too well.’