‘I’m alright. The lamppost got the worst of it. May I?’

Mariana nodded, and he sat down – in Sebastian’s chair. For a second Mariana thought about asking if they could move to another table. But she stopped herself. How did Clarissa put it? She had to stop looking over her shoulder. She had to focus on the present.

Fred grinned. He produced a small packet of nuts from his pocket. He offered them to Mariana. She shook her head.

He tossed a couple of cashews into his mouth and crunched on them, keeping his eyes on Mariana. There was an awkward pause, as she waited for him to say something. She was feeling annoyed with herself. What was she doing here with this earnest young man? What a stupid idea it was. She decided to be uncharacteristically blunt. After all, she had nothing to lose.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Nothing is going to happen between us. You understand? Ever.’

Fred choked on a cashew nut, and started coughing. He gulped some beer and managed to catch his breath. ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘I – I wasn’t expecting that. Message received. You’re out of my league, obviously.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Mariana shook her head. ‘That’s not it.’

‘Then why?’

She shrugged, uncomfortable. ‘A million reasons.’

‘Name one.’

‘You’re much too young for me.’

‘What?’ Fred’s face coloured. He looked indignant and embarrassed. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Not that young – I’m nearly twenty-nine.’

Mariana laughed. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Why? How old are you?’

‘Old enough not to round my age up. I’m thirty-six.’

‘So what?’ Fred shrugged. ‘Age doesn’t matter. Not when you feel – how you feel.’ He glanced at her. ‘You know, when I first saw you, on the train, I had the strongest premonition that, one day, I would ask you to marry me. And you would say yes.’

‘Well, you were wrong.’

‘Why? Are you … married?’

‘Yes – no, I mean—’

‘Don’t tell me he left you? What an idiot.’

‘Yes, I think so frequently.’ Mariana sighed, then spoke quickly to get it over with. ‘He – died. About a year ago. It’s hard – to talk about.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Fred looked crestfallen. He didn’t speak for a moment. ‘I feel stupid now.’

‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’

Mariana felt so tired, suddenly, and frustrated with herself. She drained her wine. ‘I should go.’

‘No, not yet. I’ve not told you what I think about the murder. About Conrad. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

‘Well?’

Fred looked at her with a sly, sidelong glance. ‘I think they’ve got the wrong man.’

‘Have they? What makes you say that?’

‘I’ve met Conrad. I know him. He’s no murderer.’

Mariana nodded. ‘Zoe doesn’t think so either. But the police do.’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve half a mind to try and solve it myself. I like solving puzzles. I have that kind of brain.’ Fred smiled at her. ‘How about it?’

‘How about what?’

‘You and me,’ Fred said with a grin. ‘Teaming up? Solving it together?’

Mariana thought for a second. She could probably use his help, and she wavered – but she knew she’d regret it. She shook her head.

‘I don’t think so, but thanks.’

‘Well, let me know you if you change your mind.’ He took out a pen from his pocket and scrawled his phone number on the back of the beer mat. He handed it to her. ‘Here. If you need anything – anything at all – call me.’

‘Thanks – but I’m not staying long.’

‘You keep saying that, but you’re still here.’ Fred grinned. ‘I have a good feeling about you, Mariana. A hunch. I’m a big believer in hunches.’

As they left the pub, Fred chatted happily to Mariana. ‘You’re from Greece, right?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I grew up in Athens.’

‘Ah, Athens is a lot of fun. I love Greece. Have you been to many islands?’

‘A few of them.’

‘How about Naxos?’

Mariana froze. She stood there awkwardly on the street, suddenly unable to look at him.

‘What?’ she whispered.

‘Naxos? I went last year. I’m a big swimmer – well, diving, mainly – and it’s great for that. Have you been? You should really—’

‘I have to go.’

Mariana turned away before Fred could see the tears in her eyes, and she kept walking off without looking back.

‘Oh,’ she heard him say. He sounded a little shocked. ‘Okay, then. I’ll see you later—’

Mariana didn’t reply. It’s just a coincidence, she told herself. It doesn’t mean anything – forget it, it’s nothing. Nothing.

She tried to banish the mention of the island from her mind, and kept walking.

15

As she left Fred, Mariana hurried back to the college.

It was getting colder in the evening now, and there was a slight chill in the air. Mist was spreading above the river – up ahead, the street disappeared in a cloudy haze, the mist hovering like thick smoke over the ground.

Mariana soon became aware she was being followed.

The same set of footsteps had been behind her soon after she left the Eagle. It was a heavy tread, a man’s tread; forceful, hard-soled boots repetitively hitting the cobbles, echoing along the deserted street – and a little way behind her. It was hard to judge just how near the footsteps were, not without turning around. She summoned her courage, and glanced over her shoulder.

There was no one there – not as far as she could see, which wasn’t far. Clouds of mist enveloped the street, swallowing it.

Mariana kept going. She turned a corner.

A few seconds later, the footsteps followed her.

She sped up. So did the footsteps.

She looked over her shoulder – and this time, she saw someone.

The shadow of a man, not far behind her. He was walking away from the streetlight, against the wall, keeping in the dark.

Mariana could feel her heart beating fast. She looked around for an escape – and she saw a man and a woman, on the other side of the street, walking arm in arm. She quickly stepped off the kerb and walked across the road towards them.

But just as she reached the pavement, they went up some steps to a front door, unlocked it, and disappeared inside.

Mariana kept walking, listening out for footsteps. And glancing over her shoulder, there he was – a man wearing dark clothing, his face in shadow – crossing the misty street after her.

Mariana glanced at a narrow alleyway to her left. She made a sudden decision, and turned down the alley. Without looking back, she broke into a run.

She ran along the alley, all the way down to the river. The wooden bridge lay ahead of her. She kept going and hurried over it – across the water, to the other side.

It was darker here, down by the water, with no streetlamps to illuminate the gloom. The mist was thicker, feeling cold and wet against her skin, and it smelled icy, like snow.

Mariana carefully bent back some branches of a tree. Then she stepped around it and hid behind it. She held on to the trunk, feeling its smooth wet bark, and tried to be as still and silent as possible. She tried to slow her breathing down, and quiet it.

And she watched, and waited.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, she glimpsed him – or his shadow – sneak over the bridge and onto the bank.

She lost sight of him, but could still hear his footsteps, on softer ground now, on earth – prowling around, barely a few feet away.

And then, silence. No sound at all. She held her breath.

Where was he? Where did he go?

She waited for what seemed an interminable time, just to make sure. Had he gone? It seemed he had.

She cautiously emerged from behind the tree. It took her a few seconds to find her bearings. Then she realised – the river was there in front of her, gleaming in the darkness. All she had to do was follow it.

She hurried along the riverbank, all the way to the back entrance of St Christopher’s. There, she crossed the stone bridge – and went up to the big wooden gate in the brick wall.

She reached out, gripped the cold brass ring, and pulled. The gate didn’t move. It was locked.

Mariana hesitated, unsure what to do – then … she heard footsteps.

The same urgent footsteps. The same man.

And he was getting closer.

Mariana looked around – but couldn’t see anything – just clouds of mist disappearing into the dark shadows.

But she could hear him approaching, crossing the bridge towards her.

She tried the gate again – but it wouldn’t budge. She was trapped. She could feel herself starting to panic.

‘Who is it?’ she called into the darkness. ‘Who’s there?’

There was no reply. Just footsteps getting closer, closer—

Mariana opened her mouth to cry out—

Then, suddenly, on her left, a little further along, there was a creaking sound. A small gate opened in the wall. It was partly hidden by a bush, and Mariana hadn’t registered it before. It was a third of the size of the main gate, and made of plain, unvarnished wood. The beam of a torch shone from it, out into the darkness. It shone onto her face, blinding her.