Jo reached for the wine bottle and poured a generous amount into her glass. ‘I’d never planned to ask for money, you know, it wasn’t my motivator.’

Allison huffed a grunt of disbelief. ‘You seemed pretty motivated to me.’

‘Only because it’s what floats your boat.’ Jo jerked a thumb towards the ceiling. ‘I’ve seen the designer bags, the expensive clothes, the Chanel body lotion. You’ve come a long way.’

You’ve come a long way. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? It struck Allison that she’d never discovered why Jo had hooked up with her on Facebook, why she’d lied to her. If she wasn’t motivated by money, what had she wanted? She should have asked; it was the perfect opportunity, but she didn’t, unsure whether she could handle any more revelations. She was still trying to understand how she, who considered herself so clever, had been fooled by Peter, Portia and Jo. Such a galling thought. ‘You don’t want money. In that case, I’ve no wish to be ungrateful, but you’ve no need to hang around.’

Jo held her glass up. ‘I could get used to drinking decent wine rather than cheap beer.’ She waved the glass around the room, the wine sloshing around the inside without spilling. ‘It didn’t take me long to get used to living in luxury either. You didn’t see the bedsit I lived in; it wasn’t much bigger than this room. I’m not sure I’ll ever hanker for designer bags, but somewhere nice to live, maybe some travelling, good food. I could get used to all that.’

A better life. Hadn’t that been what Allison had wanted, why she’d gone to such extreme measures? Maybe she and this odd woman weren’t so different after all. She took another sip of her wine. ‘I want revenge; you deserve a reward. We could get both from Portia and Stuart. By now, they’ll know the police aren’t going to arrive. They’ll expect my next move.’

‘Blackmail?’

‘A nasty word. I’d prefer to call it payback.’ She was surprised to find her wine glass almost empty. Annoyed with her weakness, she was already beginning to feel a little woozy. ‘Of course, they might do a runner and flee the country. It’s what I’d do. If so…’ If they did, she’d get nothing… no money, worse, no revenge.

‘No, they won’t do that.’ Jo reached into a pocket of her jacket. ‘When I was looking for appropriate clothes, I found these.’ She waved two passports, the gold crest on each shining in the light from a nearby lamp. ‘I have to admit, I was thinking of their resale value, but it also means the diabolical duo are stuck in the UK.’