After the Trehernes had told me about the murder at their hotel, they had gone on to explain how their daughter had disappeared.

‘It’s very unlike her to wander off without telling anyone,’ Lawrence had said. ‘And certainly to leave her daughter behind … ’

‘Who’s looking after the child?’ I asked.

‘Aiden’s there. And there’s a nanny.’

‘It’s not “unlike” her.’ Pauline gave her husband the most withering of scowls. ‘She’s never done anything like this in her life, and of course she wouldn’t leave Roxana on her own.’ She turned to me. ‘We’re worried sick, if you want the truth, Susan. And Lawrence may not agree, but I’m convinced it’s got something to do with this book.’

‘I do agree!’ Lawrence muttered.

‘Did anyone else know about her concerns?’ I asked.

‘I already told you that she telephoned us from Branlow Hall, so any one of a number of people could have overheard her.’

‘I mean, had she talked about her suspicions with anyone else?’

Pauline Treherne shook her head. ‘We tried several times to phone her from France and when she didn’t answer we called Aiden. He hadn’t rung because he didn’t want to worry us, but it turned out that he had contacted the police the same day she disappeared. Unfortunately, they didn’t take him very seriously … at least, not to begin with. They suggested the two of them might be having marriage difficulties.’

‘And were they?’

‘Not at all,’ Lawrence said. ‘They’ve always been very happy together. The police spoke to Eloise – she’s the nanny – and she said the same. She never heard any arguments.’

‘Aiden’s a perfect son-in-law. He’s clever and he’s hard-working. I only wish Lisa could find someone like him. And he’s as worried as we are!’

All the time Pauline had been speaking to me, I’d thought she was fighting something. Suddenly she pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. She smoked like someone who had just taken up the habit again after a long abstinence. She inhaled, then went on.

‘By the time we got back to England, the police had finally decided to take an interest. Not that they were very much help. Cecily had taken the dog for a walk. She has a shaggy golden retriever called Bear – we’ve always kept dogs. She left the hotel at about three o’clock in the afternoon and parked the car at Woodbridge station. She often used to take the river path. That’s the River Deben. There’s a circular walk that takes you along the edge and to begin with it’s well populated. But then it becomes wilder and more remote until you come to a wood and on the other side there’s a road that takes you back through Martlesham.’

‘So if someone attacked her—’

‘It’s not the sort of thing that ever happens in Suffolk. But yes, there were plenty of places where she would have been on her own, out of sight.’ Pauline took a breath and went on. ‘Aiden got worried when she didn’t come home for dinner and quite rightly called the police. Two uniformed officers came round and asked a few questions, but they didn’t raise the alarm until the next morning, which was much too late of course. By that time Bear had shown up, on his own, back at the station, and after that they took everything more seriously. They had people – and their own dogs – out searching the entire area from Martlesham all the way back to Melton. But it was no good. There are fields, woods, mudflats … a lot of ground to cover. They didn’t find anything.’

‘How long is it since she went missing?’ I asked.

‘The last time anyone saw her was last Wednesday.’

I felt the silence fall. Five days. That was a long time, an abyss into which Cecily had fallen.

‘You’ve come all this way to talk to me,’ I said, finally. ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’

Pauline glanced at her husband.

‘The answer is in this book,’ he explained. ‘Atticus Pünd Takes the Case. You must know it better than anyone.’

‘Actually, it’s been quite a few years since I read it,’ I admitted.

‘You worked with the author, this man, Alan Conway. You knew how his mind worked. If we were to ask you to reread it, I’m sure there are things that might occur to you that we haven’t noticed. And if you actually came to Branlow Hall and read the book in situ, so to speak, maybe you might see what it was that our daughter spotted and why she felt compelled to ring us. And that in turn might tell us where she is or what’s happened to her.’

His voice faltered as he spoke those last words. What’s happened to her. There might be a simple reason why she had vanished but it was unlikely. She knew something. She was a danger to someone. The thought was better left unsaid.

‘Can I have one of these?’ I asked. I helped myself to one of Pauline Treherne’s cigarettes. My own pack was behind the bar. The whole ritual – pulling out the cigarette, lighting it, taking the first puff – gave me time to think. ‘I can’t come to England,’ I said eventually. ‘I’m afraid I’m too busy here. But I will read the book if you don’t mind leaving me your copy. I can’t promise anything will come to mind. I mean, I remember the story and it doesn’t correspond quite with what you’ve told me. But I can email you—’

‘No. That won’t do.’ Pauline had already made up her mind. ‘You need to talk to Aiden and Lisa – and Eloise, for that matter. And you should meet Derek, the night manager. He was on duty the night Frank Parris was killed and spoke to the detective in charge. He’s in Alan Conway’s book too – although he’s called Eric.’ She leaned towards me, imploring. ‘We’re not asking you for a lot of your time.’

‘And we’ll pay you,’ Lawrence added. ‘We have plenty of money and we’re not going to hold back if it helps find our daughter.’ He paused. ‘Ten thousand pounds?’

That drew a sharp look from his wife and it occurred to me that, without thinking, he had greatly increased, perhaps doubled, the amount they had intended to offer me. That was what my reluctance had done. I thought for a moment that she was going to say something, but she relaxed and nodded.

Ten thousand pounds. I thought about the replastering on the balcony. A new computer for Andreas. The ice-cream display chest that was on the blink. Panos and Vangelis, who had both been muttering about pay rises.

*

‘How could I say no?’ This was what I told Andreas now in our bedroom, late at night. ‘We need the money, and anyway, maybe I can help them find their daughter.’

‘You think she’s still alive?’

‘It’s possible. But if she isn’t, perhaps I can find out who killed her.’

Andreas sat up. He was wide awake now and he was worried about me. I felt bad that I had sworn at him. ‘The last time you went looking for a killer, it didn’t end very well,’ he reminded me.

‘This is different. This isn’t personal. It’s got nothing to do with me.’

‘Which sounds to me like an argument for leaving it alone.’

‘You may be right. But … ’

I had made up my mind and Andreas knew it.

‘I need a break anyway,’ I said. ‘It’s been two years, Andreas, and apart from a weekend in Santorini we haven’t been anywhere. I’m completely worn out, endlessly firefighting, endlessly trying to make things work. I thought you’d understand.’

‘A break from the hotel or a break from me?’ he asked.

I wasn’t sure I had an answer to that.

‘Where will you stay?’ he asked.

‘With Katie. It’ll be nice.’ I rested a hand on his arm, feeling the warm flesh and the curve of his muscle. ‘You can manage perfectly well without me. I’ll ask Nell to come in and look after things. And we’ll talk to each other every day.’

‘I don’t want you to go, Susan.’

‘But you’re not going to stop me, Andreas.’

He paused and in that moment I could see him fighting with himself. My Andreas versus Andreas the Greek. ‘No,’ he said, finally. ‘You must do what you have to.’