Merrin took the opportunity to stare at him. He looked horror-struck and clammy, suggesting he was just as surprised as her. His hair had thinned a little and his eyes were smaller than she remembered. The navy linen shirt that hung outside of his jeans was the same item that he used to wear, and as much as she tried to douse it, a familiar flame of longing rose in her gut for him, the cowardly, cowardly pig.

Eventually he gathered himself and it was a shock to hear his voice, as clear and as lovely as it lived in her memory. ‘I-it’s n-not that common, but I have . . . I have . . . I did hear it before. Once. It reminded me of the sea.’ His voice carried the rasp of emotion and he swallowed. Like her, he seemed unable to look away and, judging by his searching expression, she was convinced she was the last person he had expected to see.

‘Are you okay, darling?’ The nice lady walked over and placed her manicured hand on his crumpled sleeve.

He nodded and tried out a smile, before pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his sweaty forehead. ‘Actually, I feel a bit . . . a bit sick.’

‘Oh, you poor love!’ His wife ran her hand over his chest. ‘Wonder what’s brought that on?’

A bit sick? Merrin thought. I know that feeling. Like your stomach has dropped down into your boots and your brain is fogged with shock and people are looking at you as if trying to figure out what to say or what to do, but you can’t tell them because you don’t have the words . . . because your world is spinning and you are wearing a wide and fancy wedding dress that feels like it weighs tons and the bodice is so tight you can’t breathe . . . Yes, it can indeed make you feel a bit sick . . .

‘Sorry, Merrin, I got stuck with a delivery, would you like me to take over here?’ Vanya offered sweetly and Merrin nodded.

‘Thank you, erm . . . thank you, Vanya, can you check in Mr and Mrs—’ She tried to say the word but it stuck in her throat.

‘Mortimer,’ Mrs Mortimer offered helpfully. ‘It’s Mr and Mrs Mortimer.’

‘Yes.’ She forced a smile. ‘Vanya will get you checked in.’

Merrin slid from behind the reception desk and, without looking at Digby again, walked briskly along the corridor, seeking solace in the wide laundry cupboard. Deciding against turning on the light, she closed the heavy door behind her and slipped off her shoes, before sitting on a large white bag full of tablecloths and placing her bare feet on the cold tiled floor.

‘Oh, my God!’ Leaning forward, she buried her face in her hands and tried to slow her pulse. ‘Oh, my God, he’s here! He’s right here! He’s here!’ she whispered into the darkness. ‘What am I going to do?’