‘So, you ran away?’ Fanshawe’s tone of voice said he wasn’t sure if he believed her.

‘As fast as I could,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘Humiliation, I discovered, makes me a faster runner. Maybe I should market it.’ She saw pity in his eyes, she wasn’t sure if it was preferable to his disdain. ‘So that’s as far as my…’ she hesitated over the word… ‘seduction, went.’

Fanshawe jotted in his notebook before looking at her with a critical light in his eye and giving a slight shrug. ‘And this was in Wiltshire?’

‘Yes, I was away with friends for a weekend in Semington House Hotel.’

Fanshawe wrote the name down, then looked back to her. ‘And their names?’

‘Amelia and Tristan Lovell.’

A murder investigation. Every stone was going to be moved, the dirt dug out and raked over. Tristan wouldn’t be impressed; Amelia would likely be amused.

‘And you are absolutely sure you didn’t tell Vine where you lived?’ Fanshawe asked.

‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘I definitely didn’t.’

‘When did he come here?’

‘The day before yesterday, he was waiting when I came home from work.’

Fanshawe scribbled as he spoke, ‘What did he say?’

‘I didn’t speak to him.’ She saw by Fanshawe’s expression that she needed to do better than that. ‘I saw him when I turned the corner and recognised him immediately. I didn’t want to speak to him. That moment by the canal was something and nothing, I’d been humiliated, I didn’t want to speak to him.’ She looked from one detective to the other. ‘I hid,’ she said.

Carstairs snorted his disbelief. Fanshawe, one eyebrow raised, said, ‘You hid?’

‘Yes,’ she said and rushed on. ‘You have to understand, I didn’t want to see him, or speak to him. I thought, if I didn’t turn up, he’d go away. The houses across the road, they have high walls, and gates. I went behind one and watched until he left.’

‘So, you never spoke to him?’

‘No.’

‘So how did you get his phone number? And if you didn’t tell him, how did he know where you lived?’

How? She’d met him hundreds of miles away. ‘I don’t know how he found out where I lived,’ she said. ‘But the day he came here, before he left, he put a note through the door asking me to ring him. That’s how I was able to send a text.’ She blinked. ‘I still have it. I meant to take it to work to shred, but I forgot.’

Fanshawe nodded. ‘Can you get it, please?’

‘Of course.’ She stood immediately, left the room and raced up the stairs. The door to the spare bedroom was shut. She breathed a thanks for Jack’s ability to sleep through anything, and went into their room.