“What do you mean?”

He looks as if he’s weighing whether to say what’s on his mind. “Since Georgina died, Flora hasn’t been . . . She’s not the same person you remember, as you’ve so observantly noticed. Seeing and speaking to you will make her much worse. That’s why we’ve been trying to keep you at bay. It’s not going to help Flora to share intimate details of our life to satisfy your curiosity. It’s not going to help me either, as the person who has to look after Flora—which is why I’d very much appreciate it if you’d turn around, go home and forget all about us. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

How has he done it? How has he gone from lying brazenly to my face to making me feel guilty?

He’s a liar. The guilt you’re feeling is a lie. Don’t let him see it.

“If you want to protect Flora from having to talk to me, you could easily do that,” I tell him. “Give me an explanation that makes sense.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to do that without involving Flora. It’s her story to tell as much as mine. Where are you staying? A hotel?”

“The Marriott, Delray Beach.”

“Go there now. Flora and I will meet you there in an hour, hour and a half. Soon as we can.”

Will you? Or will you take Flora and the kids and run?

I can’t think of any way to stop him from leaving his office and going wherever he wants. I can hardly block his way to the door, or lock him in.

Locked up at Her Majesty’s pleasure . . . Lewis said it before and it stuck in my mind.

Wait. What if . . .

An idea is starting to form in my mind. Of all the expressions Lewis might have used, he chose that one. He chose it: Lewis Braid.

I’ll need to check to see if I could be right. A simple Internet search will sort that out.

“I’ll see you at the Marriott,” I say as evenly as I can manage.

“Are you all right?” Lewis asks. “You look a bit . . .”

“I’m fine.”

“What room are you in at the hotel?”

“We won’t be going to my room,” I tell him. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

We leave the building together. Lewis smiles and waves at the three receptionists on his way out. I hand my laminated pass back to Wayna.

Once we’re outside, Lewis heads for his car without looking at me or saying good-bye. I walk over to my taxi, more grateful to be reunited with my silent driver than I would have believed possible.

As we pull out of VersaNova’s car park, I fumble in my bag for my phone. It won’t take long to search for the name that I might have invented . . .

A few seconds later, I have the confirmation I need. And no idea at all what it might mean.

21

I’m sitting in the lobby of the Marriott, facing the main doors, when Lewis and Flora walk in. At last. It’s nearly two hours since Lewis and I left VersaNova together. He looks preoccupied and determined, as if he’s in the middle of completing an important task and nobody had better interrupt him until it’s done. He’s still holding his black leather bag, the same one he had with him at the office. Flora looks at me, then quickly looks away, as if she might still avoid an encounter with me if she plays this right.

It occurs to me only now, when I see them together: he looks a lot younger than she does. That never used to be true. Whatever they’ve been through, she’s come out of it worse.

I stand up and walk toward them. Flora stops. For a moment, I wonder if she might turn and run again. Lewis drapes his arm over her shoulder. Anyone else in the hotel lobby who observed the gesture would think it was affectionate: a man putting his arm around his wife. To me it looks as if Lewis also fears Flora might try and escape.

None of us says hello. Lewis says, “Let’s go to your room, Beth.”

“I told you, I’m not doing that. We can sit there and talk.” I point to an octagonal space nearby, marked out by eight white floor-to-ceiling pillars. Between the pillars, on a raised platform, there are tables and chairs. “No one’s sitting there. We’d have it to ourselves.”

“I’m not doing this in a public place,” says Lewis. “Either we go to your room or Flora and I leave. What do you think we’re going to do to you, Beth?”

My room has a balcony that overlooks the swimming-pool terrace, where there are bound to be a good number of people sunbathing or reading on loungers. If I leave the door to the balcony wide open, so that I can shout for help if I need to . . .

“Can I see what’s inside your bags before you bring them into my room?” I say.

“From TV detective to airport security.” Lewis shakes his head.

I don’t care how disappointed he is in me. I don’t trust him and I’m not taking any risks. I’ve never trusted anyone less, in fact. He needn’t be here, with a story he’s reluctant but prepared to tell me. There’s only one reason why he’d bring Flora here and give up his working day to explain things to me that—as he correctly pointed out—are none of my business: he’s still hoping to control me. He wants to satisfy my curiosity because he fears what will happen if he doesn’t.

“You can look in Flora’s bag.” He pulls it off her shoulder and hands it to me. “Mine’s full of confidential documents. I can leave it in the car, if it bothers you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Fine. Give me five minutes.” Flora tries to follow him when he moves to leave the lobby. “What are you doing?” he asks her.

“Coming with you.”

“Why? Wait here.”

He leaves. Flora stares down at the ground.

“Are you angry with me?” I ask her.

“No. Of course not.”

“I wish you and I could talk alone.”

“We can’t,” she says quickly.

“Now? Or ever?”

“We won’t see each other again after today.”

“Why? Because Lewis won’t let you see me again?”

“We only agreed to meet you so that you’d leave us alone. You need to stop . . . what you’re doing. Stop following me around.” She looks up at me. There are tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to see you.”

“I’m not here because I want us to be friends again,” I say. “If you don’t want that then I don’t either. All I want is to know that you and your children are all right—your two youngest children, who have the same names as your two oldest. Don’t they?”

She says nothing. Her eyes flit back and forth.

“Why, Flora? Why would you do that? I’ve seen Yanina picking Thomas up. They didn’t look at each other or speak to each other. I’m worried for him and Emily. I saw him walking along with the sole of his shoe hanging off. Even if you don’t care about yourself, you should care about those children.”

“I care,” she says.

“Well, then, you must know they’re not okay. And you’re not okay either. Let me help. Tell me what’s going on before Lewis comes back. We don’t have to wait here for him. We could go somewhere else where—”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t need you to worry about me.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, why are you here?”

“Lewis says we have to, otherwise you won’t ever leave us alone, and that’s all I want: for you to leave me alone.” Instead, Lewis has left her alone with me. Why? He could have easily let her go with him to the car.

It would have looked odd, though—her trotting after him like a slave. And he knows he’s trained her well enough that she won’t say anything. Unless . . . No. Unless nothing. Every time I find myself starting to wonder if maybe Flora’s the one in control, I think back to the way she and Lewis were when I knew them before.

He’s the boss. Always was, always will be.

“Who’s Chimpy?” I ask.

Flora looks puzzled, as I expected her to. “Chimpy? I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry about Georgina,” I tell her. “When I saw you outside your house in Hemingford Abbots, you were talking on the phone. I heard you say that you were very lucky. To lose a child isn’t lucky.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Why did you describe yourself as lucky? It might sound like a strange question, but I heard you say it twice. Once was outside the house and the other time was when Lewis first rang me, after I sent him a message on Instagram. I heard you in the background saying those exact same words: ‘I’m very lucky.’”

“I am lucky.” She looks away. “Only people with nothing to live for are unlucky. Do you think that because Georgina died, I have nothing to live for? I have other children, and I love them.”

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many other children do you have? What are their names?”

“How can you do this to me?” she whispers. “I’ve told you I don’t want it. The children are fine.”

“Flora, they’re not. They’re . . .” Too late. Lewis is back. My time alone with Flora has run out. I try not to feel frustrated. It’s not as if the conversation was going well.

“I’m good to go,” Lewis says. “No bag, no concealed weapons.” He twirls around. “Do you want to pat me down?”

“Wait here,” I say. “I need to use the bathroom. Then we can go up.”

“There’s probably one in your room.” He smiles. “I’ll help you find it.”