You’re standing in front of me, in our bedroom. Wearing a short silk dressing gown, and kitten heel slippers. In tears, on this sweltering summer evening. The window is open and the scent of climbing jasmine mingles with your perfume. Heady and sweet.

‘What if we have made a mistake?’ you ask, biting your lip to suppress your sobbing.

You dry your face with your handkerchief, and sniff.

‘You won’t have.’

You shake your head, slowly. ‘Keeping money for too long in a client account, when the client has asked for it back, is a serious accusation. The worst kind of serious for a solicitor.’

‘There’ll be a reason for it. Please don’t worry.’

You blow your nose, swallow and take a deep breath. Your azure eyes are icy with fear.

‘What if there’s not?’

‘I can’t bear to see you like this. I wish this would just go away.’

‘What if your mother’s been into the office and stitched me up? Infiltrated the computer? Made it look as if we did something wrong?’ you continue.

I shake my head. ‘Now you’re being paranoid. She wouldn’t do anything like that.’

‘Wouldn’t she? I think she’s responsible for every trouble in my life.’

‘She was responsible for making me,’ I point out. ‘Do you think I’m trouble?’

You almost smile. ‘You know I don’t. You know I love you, Miles.’ You walk across the room and sit down on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s just I’m frightened. Very frightened.’

I sit down beside you and put my arm around you. You turn and cling to me, body trembling.

122

Hayley

A month has passed since my kiwi pie cooking extravaganza with Miles and the boys. Saturday morning, again. Aiden at the house, again. He doesn’t seem to spend much time in his bachelor pad in Chelsea. He has shown me some photographs of it on his iPhone. It looks simple and stylish – glass, metal and mirrors. Nothing out of place. No clutter. No photographs. Almost into Knightsbridge, quite near Harrods. But I know why he spends so much time here. He can’t take his eyes off Saffron.

I gather from the way he talks about her that he has been obsessed with her for years. He knows her dress size, her shoe size. Favourite colour. Favourite flowers. Every mark she obtained in her Cambridge finals. How long she spent in labour with both boys. How many stitches she needed. What she chose for pain relief. Every country she has ever visited. The make of her favourite lipstick. It’s too intense. It’s weird.