And then I was half an hour from home. I was turning off the motorway and heading down the glittering black road that cut deep into the countryside: sheep-speckled grass and walls of rugged fell and brooding sky.

I felt my fear like a fist, a hand gripping at my heart and squeezing it like ripe fruit. I’d sent Felicity into this. Felicity and John.

Christ, John! At the house. The house where he’d betrayed his vows.

All I could do was trust that he could keep his mouth shut.

If Felicity knew the truth about what we’d done, she’d damn well die on the spot.

FELICITY

It’s a strange feeling, finding out that your husband isn’t who you think he is. I’d imagine some people find it quite exciting – a real shot in the arm for the relationship and a chance to spice things up a bit. I don’t like spice. Never have. My favourite meal is stew and dumplings with apple cake for afters. I don’t even like the parsley bits in frozen fishcakes. I didn’t want John to be anybody other than the man I’d married. He was solid. Dependable. A bit of a grump. He had a silly side to him and a kind heart and he loved me, in that quiet way of his, putting up with the nagging and the fretting and the never wanting to go further than the horizon. We understood one another. He’d seen the world during the war. Rode giant turtles on the beach in Singapore and watched Japanese torpedoes sink the ship he’d have been on if he hadn’t caught some nasty tropical illness. He even got to go to an airbase in Australia, all bought and paid for by those fine people at Rolls-Royce. Came back with a suntan and plenty of stories. Told me about the weather and the food and the silly sod who’d fallen into one of the big industrial drums and had to be hauled out by his ankles. But he never told me he’d seen my best friend over there, or that she recruited him to work as an asset for the Secret Intelligence Service.

I can see him clear as anything, laid out on the floor, holding that little recording device in his hand and laughing at something that didn’t strike me as the least bit funny. It felt like somebody else had taken over John’s skin. He was a stranger to me.

‘Help me up,’ he grunted, when the amusement had worn off. ‘I’ll need a boost if I’m going to get up there without ripping open.’

I followed his gaze. ‘Get up there? Why would you need to get up there?’