He got up and brushed past her, walking out of the hotel. Another couple, coming in, stepped out of his way, alarmed.

Later on, they would say he had been a man with murder in his eyes.

Nancy Mitchell had heard much of the conversation between Melissa James and the producer from her place behind the reception desk. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but the door had been open and with nobody around, sound carried easily in the Moonflower. She saw Miss James emerge from the bar and disappear through the main door of the hotel and then, when she went in to see him, the little man who had signed in as Mr Cox did exactly the same. Out of curiosity, Nancy followed him outside, just in time to see him climb into a stubby black car and drive off. She could tell that he was heading out of Tawleigh in the direction of Clarence Keep. Was he going after her?

It was none of her business. She watched until the car had disappeared from sight, noticing that the rain had stopped once again, although water was still dripping off the trees and the driveway was full of puddles. She glanced at her watch and went back to the reception desk. There were only fifteen minutes left until six o’clock and the end of her shift. Mrs Gardner took over in the evening until ten o’clock, when the night manager arrived.

She took out a hand mirror and examined herself, remembering what Miss James had said. Her hair was still a bit of a mess but nobody would have known she had been crying. She wished that Miss James – of all people – hadn’t been the one to notice it. And the very idea that the two of them could be friends! Nancy had heard things about the rich and famous Melissa James that nobody else in Tawleigh would ever have suspected. She pretended to be nice. But she wasn’t.

Even so, she needed a friend, now more than ever. The very thought of it brought tears to her eyes. How could she have let it happen? How could she have been so stupid?

It was two weeks since she had seen Dr Collins. Nancy hadn’t even told her parents that she had an appointment. Her father was the sort of man who had never had a day’s illness in his life and expected the same of everyone else. She hadn’t thought it was anything serious and she had been completely stunned when Dr Collins had come up with his diagnosis.

‘I’m not sure you’re going to be happy about this, Nancy. But you’re pregnant.’

It was a word that Nancy had never even heard, certainly not spoken to her by a man – even if he was a doctor. It opened up a world that she only partly understood. It changed everything in ways that she couldn’t even begin to consider. ‘It’s impossible!’ she whispered.

‘Why do you say that? Are you telling me that you’ve never … been with a man?’

She couldn’t answer. She could feel her cheeks burning.

‘If there’s someone you’ve been seeing, you’re going to have to tell him. Whatever you decide, he’s going to be part of it.’

What could she do? What would happen when her father found out? All sorts of questions had rushed into her head. But there were no answers. Unless, of course, it wasn’t true. It could still be a mistake.

‘It was only once,’ she said, on the edge of tears. She was looking down at the floor, unable to meet his eye.

‘I’m afraid once is enough.’

‘Are you sure, Dr Collins?’

‘A hundred per cent. Would you perhaps like to talk to my wife? You might find it easier, woman to woman.’

‘No! I don’t want anyone else to know.’

‘Well, they’re going to find out soon enough. You’re already beginning to show and another month … ’

Show! She cradled her stomach with her hands.

‘We’ll have to make further tests and I’m going to want you to go into the hospital in Barnstaple. You’re young and you’re in very good health, so there are no worries there … ’

There were only worries. She could think of nothing else.

‘Do you want to tell me something about the father of your baby?’

‘No!’ She couldn’t tell anyone – not until she had told him. But could she even tell him?

‘It might help if the two of you came in and met me together.’ Dr Collins could see how distressed she had become. He gave her a kindly smile. ‘What’s his name?’ he asked.

‘John.’ She blurted it out. ‘He’s a local boy. I met him in Bideford. We … ’ She bit her lip. ‘It was only once, Doctor. I never thought … ’

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

She shook her head. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Dr Collins came over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘You mustn’t upset yourself,’ he said. ‘Having a child is a wonderful thing. My wife would say it’s a miracle, creating a new life. And you’re not the only young woman to have made a mistake. You have to be strong … for the baby’s sake.’

‘No one can know!’

‘Well, obviously you must tell your parents. They ought to be the first to know. And they’ll send you to stay with relatives. Everything can be arranged for you, Nancy. The baby will be put up for adoption and when you come back it will be as if it never happened.’

The very next day, Nancy had gone to the library in Bideford and looked at the medical books, but they hadn’t told her what she wanted to know. She had to stop the baby being born. Somewhere she had heard that drinking a lot of gin would do it. Wasn’t that why it was called ‘mother’s ruin’? And there was a girl at the Red Lion who had once said that you had to have a very hot bath. So the following Saturday evening, while her parents were at the pictures, she had done both. She had drunk half a bottle of Old Tom and sat in the bath, fully dressed, with the steaming water up to her neck. Later that night she had been thoroughly sick and she thought that maybe it had done the trick, but, going back to Dr Collins, she had discovered her condition hadn’t changed.

And so she had written to the man she had called John, to the father of her child. She had made it clear that he was the father, that there had never been anyone else, and she had tried to be conciliatory. She would keep his secret, she had told him. But she was frightened and she was on her own and she needed his help.

The answer had come the following morning, a thick white envelope that had surprised her by the weight of its contents, with her name in typed letters on the front. He must have written her a very long letter, she thought, but when she opened it her eyes had fallen on twelve five-pound notes and a single sheet of paper with a name and an address: a doctor in Baker Street, London.

Could it have been any crueller? The note was unsigned and the typewriter concealed his handwriting so that it could never be traced back to him. There was no attempt at sympathy or understanding. Nor was there to be any discussion. Get rid of it. That was the simple message. And there was something uniquely horrible about the payment, the amount – sixty pounds – worked out precisely and paid in used five-pound notes. Nancy knew that he must have made enquiries. If he had discovered that an illegal abortion would cost sixty pounds and two shillings, he would have thrown in a handful of coins.

The letter had changed everything.

Previously, Nancy had been ashamed of herself. She had thought it was all her fault. Now she thought otherwise. She knew she couldn’t name the father. It would be a scandal that would rebound entirely on her, forcing her to leave Tawleigh for good. But she wasn’t completely powerless. She could still make him pay for what he had done – and it would cost him a lot more than sixty pounds.

Sitting there, watching the minute hand on the clock in the corridor move slowly towards the hour, Nancy Mitchell made her decision. The father of her child had thought he could buy her off. She was going to prove him wrong.

FOUR

SECRETS AND SHADOWS