And for the first time, I thought about it.

‘Maybe,’ I said quietly. ‘Maybe it’s the best thing to do, Ginger.’

‘It’s the only thing to do, Tara. And you make it very clear that if you ever have to tell him again, it will be on the doorstep of his lovely home in Brighton – in front of his wife and their brat and their cat and all the next-door neighbours.’ Ginger’s mouth twisted with disgust. ‘That usually works,’ she said.

It was dark by the time we got to the hotel.

There was a homeless man sitting on the pavement outside the Langham Hotel. He was set up with an old Staffie and his cardboard sign and his backpack, only a short way from the main doors where the wall of the grand hotel curved elegantly away from Portland Place towards Oxford Street, but conveniently out of sight from the top-hatted doormen. The Staffie huddled against the homeless man with naked adoration in the cool spring evening.

A British soldier, his cardboard sign said.

‘This is a bad idea,’ I said. ‘It’s late. Let’s go home. There has to be some other way.’

‘You tried the other ways,’ Ginger said. ‘They didn’t work. He came to your office, Tara. He came to your home.’

I nodded. Oh, he was just some crank, I had told Christian when I arrived home with Marlon in the early afternoon, the story meticulously rehearsed in my head on the drive home. That’s who James Caine was, I said, even managing a wry smile. Sorry he bothered you, Christian, but he is just one of those sickos who sees a woman online and thinks they have some sort of connection. The Internet creaks and out come the freaks, I said, quoting Spike. That had apparently been enough to calm my husband. Perhaps it was exactly what he hoped to hear. At least, there had been no suspicion in Christian’s eyes, no indication that he thought that I could ever do something that could destroy our life.

‘I’ve seen his type before,’ Ginger was saying. ‘The world is full of creeps like James fucking Caine. And this particular creep is never going to be happy until he breaks you and your family in pieces.’

I knew it was true. I remembered the gloating look in his eyes when he came to the office.

I fucked you three times, that look said. And your husband hasn’t got a clue, has he? And I can have you again any time I want, can’t I?

‘Stop,’ I said, and Ginger put her arm around my shoulder as I bent double, my stomach heaving. I retched once, and then again, my stomach muscles cramping, but nothing came up. I straightened, tasting the bitter bile in my mouth.

‘Done?’ Ginger said.

I nodded.

She patted my back. ‘Good girl.’

The homeless man – the British soldier – was watching us. For the first time, I saw how young he was. He saluted us with a small smile.