A wild thought crashed, clumsily, through his mind. What if Fortinbrass had a twin brother who was now masquerading as him?

He felt a strong draught, as if the door behind him had opened. Slowly, suddenly very scared, he turned.

The door was closed.

He turned back to the face on his screen. If he showed it to Emily when she came home, she would totally freak out – but he couldn’t keep it from her. Whatever was going on here, they had to face it together and deal with it together.

Then he had an idea. Grabbing his phone, he took a photograph of Fortinbrass’s face. It triggered another thought. He walked over to his unsold work, stacked against the far wall, turned around the sketch of the woman he’d done yesterday and photographed that too.

Just as he turned it back, face-in against the stack, there was a sound downstairs. Emily was back a lot sooner than he thought – he was sure she’d told him she would be having lunch out with Louise.

He heard footsteps below him, on the first floor.

Clump. Clump. Clump.

Hers?

He went over to the door, opened it and called down, ‘Em!’

Silence.

‘Em?’ he called again, louder.

No response. He crossed to the window and looked down. Emily’s van was not in the driveway. Over the road, the Penze-Weedells were still struggling with the stepladder. As he looked at them, he heard the footsteps again.

Clump. Clump. Clump.

He tensed. They were like the ones he and Emily had heard upstairs on Sunday, when they were in the kitchen.

He stood in the doorway, peering down the spiral staircase, waiting for them again, and for whoever was down there.

But nothing happened.

He relaxed. As he’d thought, it was just the oak flooring moving, drying out or expanding, or whatever. He scrawled a note for Emily, in case she came back before he returned, added a couple of kisses, and put it on the kitchen table. He debated whether to take his bike, peering out of the window to check the weather, but it was raining even harder now.

Walking out to his car, he heard Claudette, with her back towards him, calling out to her husband, who was again on the top step of the ladder, looking like an accident waiting to happen. ‘Maurice! Maurice, I really don’t think—’

He climbed into the car, shut the door and drove off quickly, threading around Lakeview Drive and along towards the estate entrance. As he reached it, a tractor thundered down at reckless speed. Albert Fears again – busy today, Jason thought. He must lurk here and snap a picture of him; he would make a great subject for a painting. Angry Man on Tractor. Perhaps towing the trailer full of sheep, with the barking collie at the tailgate?

Just as he drove between the two stone pillars and pulled out onto the lane, a huge 1960s red and white Cadillac convertible swept up the hill towards him. It slowed, indicating right, making to turn into Cold Hill Park. The driver had a big cigar in his mouth, the woman sitting beside him looking excited, peering through the windscreen. Two kids jumped up and down in the back.