She put the mug down, sat back and gazed out the window. This could be hers… and for the first time, she acknowledged she wanted it. When Allison returned, she’d ask her if the solicitor had given her any idea of a time frame for dealing with the estate. Only then could the house be sold, and Jo be able to get her share. Two million pounds.

She’d need to tread carefully till then. Allison was capable of anything but Jo, probably more than anyone, already knew that. Knowledge in this case was safety; she wouldn’t let her guard down. She certainly wouldn’t stand on the edge of a train station platform.

There was no rush. It was pleasant to sit in comfort and not worry about anything. Or anyone… But where the hell was Allison? Jo knew her to be a loner. No school or university friends. She rarely joined colleagues for drinks after work. It had amused Jo to see how alike they were.

She had never expected Allison to marry, thought she, like Jo, was destined for the single life. She should have guessed there was an ulterior motive for her rush to the altar. A three-million-pound motive.

Jo was almost relieved to have been proved right. She and Allison were alike.

No family to flee to, no friends, apart from one… she had to have gone to stay with Portia. Such a shame Jo hadn’t managed to find out where she lived. She’d have to do some fishing when Allison came back and see what she could find out. Knowledge was safety; it was also power.

Back upstairs, she looked in Allison’s wardrobe. What a pity she was slimmer and taller than Jo. She pulled out a silk shirt. It was loose-fitting; it might be okay. Dropping the towel to the floor, she slipped it on. It did fit… if she didn’t need to fasten the buttons. She pulled it off roughly, rolled it into a ball and threw it into the bottom of the wardrobe. The slam of the wardrobe door echoed around the room. Before it faded, her flash of anger had too.

Her own clothes would have to suffice. For the moment.

Dressed, she pulled out her purse and checked her funds. The taxi fare had knocked her a bit. She’d enough for milk and bread, maybe butter. Nothing fancy, and she’d have killed for a biscuit.

Back in Allison’s bedroom, she went through the pockets of her coats and jackets, finding two pounds in small change. It all helped. Doing a quick check on her phone, she found a Co-op store a short walk away. It was a good place for an economical shop.