He had declined to see the children. Didn’t want to confuse them ‘before things are back to normal’. He hadn’t even asked where she was. He’d probably realised they wouldn’t tell him. Or he hadn’t needed them to. Sooner or later, he’s going to figure it out. She had thought it would take a bit longer. She had hoped.

Now she’s sitting frozen on the edge of the bed while her mind spins like a white load in a tumble dryer and blood throbs in her skull. She looks at the half-full glass of whiskey on the bedside table, the unread book, the bread knife she had fetched last night when she couldn’t sleep. For some reason, it had made her feel safer at the time. Now, it seems like a bad joke. I don’t stand a chance, she thinks to herself. How could I ever have thought I’d be able to hide here?

And that thought finally makes the tumble dryer stop spinning. Slowly, a realisation sinks in: he’s tugging at the wrong door. He doesn’t know about the flat above the studio. And then she recalls Marike’s exasperated response to Karen’s question. ‘Do you really think I don’t have a burglar alarm?’ Of course there’s an alarm; the studio is full of valuable art. Apparently, yanking the door handle doesn’t set it off, but if someone were to actually break in . . . and then that thought is cut short by the next one.

Maybe it’s not him.

Infinitesimally slowly she slides down to the floor and crawls over to the wall by the window. The closed curtains are heavy and don’t move in the draught when she stands up. The gap between them is too small; she hesitates briefly before gingerly pushing one of the curtains aside. Reluctantly, she presses her face to the glass and peers down at the street.

The light from the street lamps is dimmed by the falling snow. The dark figure that has just taken a step back to stare at the studio could be anyone. No one would be able to pick him out of a line-up. No one but her.

Then time stops. Bo Ramnes takes another step back and looks up at the first floor. She is paralysed. She stands there motionless, unbreathing, watching his eyes scan the row of black windows. Then he abruptly turns away and walks back toward his car. When she hears the door slam shut and the black Mercedes drive away, Aylin lets out a gasp of relief and collapses onto the cold floor.

Chapter 64

64