‘I know you didn’t,’ Naomi replied. ‘The same way I know you didn’t put maggots in my cake, or the handyman didn’t spend the night.’ She had smelled her husband’s favourite tipple on Lloyd’s breath.

An understanding passed between them. Sliding her mobile from her pocket, Naomi drew up the number she had found on a forwarded email from her solicitor.

‘What are we going to do now?’ Morgan watched her intently.

‘I need to talk to somebody, starting with the woman who sold us the house. Leave it with me.’ Naomi rose from the armchair. Her shoulders ached from being tensed all day. ‘And Morgan, no more secrets. You’ve got to set this Taz guy straight . . .’ Her expression darkened as a thought hit her. ‘He hasn’t asked for naked pictures, has he? Made you do anything you don’t want to?’

‘Ugh, no!’ Morgan exclaimed. ‘I’m not stupid enough for that.’

Naomi gave her a knowing look. ‘It’s surprising what people will do to keep a friendship.’ She handed Morgan her laptop before plumping her pillow. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,’ she said, turning to go.

‘Don’t leave.’ Morgan gave her a pleading look. ‘Please.’

Naomi checked her watch before settling back down into the armchair and making the call. It was early evening, so there was a good chance that Petunia Doyle would be in. The phone picked up after three rings.

‘Hello?’ a female voice answered, rusted with ill health. Naomi’s pulse picked up speed.

‘Mrs Doyle? It’s Naomi Ward here. I bought your house. Ivy Cottage.’

Silence followed. Her eyes flicked to Morgan, who had her laptop open on her knees. Naomi put the phone call on speaker. It was good to have an ally.

‘I’ve been having some problems,’ Naomi continued. She crossed her legs and began bobbing her foot, wishing she’d rehearsed what she was going to say. ‘I was hoping you could help.’

‘The house was sold as is,’ Mrs Doyle replied, and Naomi picked up the faintest of Irish accents in her tone. Morgan gave Naomi an encouraging nod to keep going.

‘It’s not about the house,’ Naomi continued. ‘It’s the locals. They’ve been causing trouble. My stepdaughter was attacked in the woods last night.’ She was getting more used to referring to her that way, and it felt good.

‘What do you expect me to do?’ Petunia replied coldly. ‘I’m not a well woman. Your neighbours are no concern of mine.’

‘Please.’ Naomi sensed she was about to hang up. ‘If you could tell me something, anything . . . it would help to know what I’m dealing with. I’ve had Lloyd Thomas around, and his wife, Joanne. The doctor was here too. Wilfred. My stepdaughter arranged to meet the vicar’s daughter last night and someone attacked her from behind.’