“What do you mean?”

“You’ve flown all the way from England to sit in my office and fire strange accusations at me. They do sound like accusations, whether that’s your intention or not—as if you’re a TV detective trying to crack a case. Which casts me in the role of ‘villain you’ve exposed, about to be locked up at Her Majesty’s pleasure.’ In fact, I’m someone who’s done nothing wrong and who used to be your friend. Whose third child died tragically many years ago, and who didn’t and doesn’t want to talk about that with someone he’s no longer close to. There’s nothing in my life that justifies a manic interrogation, so . . . this has to be about whatever’s going on with you. I’m wondering if you’re okay.”

I decide to try a new tactic. “Tell me the truth, Lewis. I don’t much care what it is. All I want is to know. People are trying to tell me I didn’t see something I know I saw, and I’ve had enough. At least confirm that it was Flora I saw, even if you won’t tell me anything else.”

A flicker of impatience passes across his face. “Beth, I can take you to Flora right now if you like.”

“She might be in Florida now, but she wasn’t the two times I saw her.”

“Yes, she was.” Lewis raises one hand, finger pointed upward. “I’ve thought of a solution.

“Can you tell me the exact dates and times of your alleged Flora sightings? There’s rarely a day that she doesn’t see someone—her friends, charity committee ladies, tennis club people. I can probably track down whoever she was with when you claim to have seen her in the UK.”

“To provide an alibi, you mean?” An extremely well-paid one, no doubt. “I’m sure you could, but why would you? If you’re telling the truth and nothing suspicious is going on, why would you indulge my irrational obsession?”

“The very question I’m asking myself at the moment.” Lewis smiles again. “Because you were once a good friend, I guess. As for something suspicious . . . even if Flora was in the UK, which she wasn’t, how is that suspicious? She has a passport. She’s allowed to travel.”

“The two children living at 16 Wyddial Lane are called Thomas and Emily.”

Lewis laughs. “Yeah, right. Of course they are.”

“I heard Flora call them by those names. They look identical to . . .” I point at the photo on his desk. “To the way they looked at the same age. That’s how I know they’re yours.”

“Wait, wait . . .” For the first time since I arrived, he looks as if he doesn’t know exactly what to say next. “Beth, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but . . . do you realize how unwell you sound?”

“I might sound that way to someone else, who knew nothing, but it’s not how I sound to you. To you, I sound like someone who knows a bit too much. Whereas to me, I sound like someone who knows too little.”

“This is verging on pathological now,” he says.

“We could easily sort it out once and for all.”

“How?”

“Take me to see Thomas and Emily. If they tell me Flora lives with you all and hasn’t been in England recently, I might believe them.”

“You know what?” He sounds angry. Finally. “I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to introduce my kids to someone displaying pathologically obsessive behavior. Even if she is an old friend.”

“All right. Never mind. They’d probably lie for you anyway if you paid them enough. If mine are anything to go by, teenagers are generally bribe-able.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Can you hear how you sound?”

“Who’s Chimpy?”

“Chimpy?” I see a flash of what looks like genuine confusion. “I have no idea who Chimpy is. Who is it?”

“I don’t know. I think you do, though.” As I say it, I’m aware that it doesn’t feel true.

He doesn’t know. Everything else I’ve said, even if he wasn’t expecting it, he knew it might come up. But not this. Not Chimpy.

“What’s happened to you, Beth? Hearing you say these things . . . it makes me ashamed for you. How have you become this? I can withstand any attack you want to launch at me, but it makes me sad for you.”

“Nothing you say is going to work on me,” I tell him. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

“All right, well . . .” He shrugs. “I guess we’re done here.”

“Are we? You’re not curious about anything I’ve said? If you don’t believe the two children living in your old house are called Thomas and Emily, you could easily check. Ring Huntingdon police and ask for PC Paul Pollard. He’ll tell you.”

“The police? You went to the police about this?”

I nod. “I’m worried about the children. And Flora. She would never have cut off her parents and stopped them from seeing their grandchildren. Not of her own free will.”

“Ah, I see. You think I’m controlling Flora? Stopping her making her own decisions?”

“She was always scared of you. I didn’t see it at the time, but now I see it as clearly as I see you standing here in front of me. All those times she mumbled, ‘Lew-is,’ when you were off on one of your rants. I always assumed she was embarrassed, but she wasn’t. She was scared. That was her way of begging you to stop—and even that she could only bring herself to do in the mildest way. That’s why I didn’t recognize it for the fear it was. And I think it must have gotten worse and worse. The last time you all came around was the worst I’ve ever seen it. Do you remember ordering Flora out of our living room so that we wouldn’t catch a glimpse of her breasts while she fed Georgina? She obeyed without question. She always obeyed you, but on that day she looked properly scared. I was too wrapped up in my own guilt about that stupid photo to notice at the time, but I remember it vividly. That was fear I saw on her face. Fear of you.”

“I feel this is where I should say, ‘Much as I’d like to spend the morning talking about my wife’s breasts . . .’” Neither of us laughs. Lewis says, “You’re scraping the barrel, Beth. Her breasts? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember . . . No, I’ll go even further. I don’t think anything like that happened the last time we all got together. In fact, I’m sure it didn’t. Flora sunbathes topless on beaches all over the world. You know she does: you’ve been on holiday with us enough times to know. People in every continent have seen her tits and I don’t give a shit. Wow.” He exhales slowly. “That’s something I didn’t expect to be saying this morning.”

“You’re not going to make me doubt myself, Lewis. I’ve spoken to Tilly from number 3 Wyddial Lane. The woman you stalked, remember?”

“You want to talk about stalking?” He’s not quite shouting, but he’s almost there.

I’m in the middle of the room. He’s behind his desk. I could make a dash for the door and I’d get to it before he could stop me.

If I need to. I still don’t think he’ll turn violent. His losses of temper were always verbal only. I never saw him hit anything or anyone. He wouldn’t risk me running out of the room yelling that Lewis Braid had assaulted me.

“What is it that you’re doing if not stalking, Beth? Coming all the way to America to tell me about some children that are nothing to do with me . . . My life, Flora’s life, it’s none of your fucking business. I owe you nothing. No explanations, nothing! You have the nerve to say Flora’s scared of me? You’re the one she’s scared of. Not me. You. She never runs away from me.”

My breath catches in my throat. Does he realize what he’s done? Lewis closes his eyes. He slumps a little in his chair.

Yes. He realizes.

“So you admit Flora was in Huntingdon—that I saw her there, and that she ran away from me in the car park? There’s no point in denying it now. We both heard what you just said.”

I count the seconds, waiting for an answer. Finally, he gives a small nod.

Thank you. I wasn’t wrong and I’m not crazy.

“Why would Flora be scared of me?”

“Because she needed you to leave her alone, and you wouldn’t. Instead, you turned into a stalker.”

“Needed me to leave her alone, or wanted me to?”

“I can’t answer that,” Lewis says wearily. “I’m not her.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Come on.” He pushes back his chair and stands up. “I’m not having this conversation without Flora.”

“Where are we going?”

“Do you want answers? I thought that’s why you came here—for answers?”

“It is.”

“Then you need to trust me, or you won’t get any. Which might be better for everybody, but it’s too late for that. You won’t leave it alone, so you’re going to get your answers—whatever the cost, right?”