But Mona, even if she’d heard, didn’t take any notice. ‘You know how he gets his money, don’t you? He makes guns and rockets and stuff, shit for people to kill each other with.’ Her face took on a hard, angry expression. ‘People like him shouldn’t be allowed to live. All he brings is pain and misery. I’d be doing the world a favour by getting rid. Of course the house is alarmed – he’s bloody terrified of anyone breaking in – but I know the code. I could easily turn it off.’

Sadie began to gather her things together, willing the train to get into the station. Mona was freaking her out. The sooner she was away from her the happier she’d be. She knew that the train wasn’t going anywhere near Hampstead and so she asked, ‘You’re not on your way home then?’

‘Of course not. I’m going to see…’ Mona hesitated. ‘I have to go somewhere, see someone. He doesn’t trust me on my own so he always picks me up and takes me there. He’s paying by the hour, you see, so he can’t bear to be late. He’s a fucking millionaire but he hates the thought of wasting a penny.’ Mona scratched at the skin on her wrist with her scarlet fingernails. ‘It’s a joke. It really is.’

Sadie didn’t push her on who she was going to see. She didn’t want to know. She had already learned more about Mona Farrell’s life than she wanted. ‘Right,’ she murmured. Feeling the train beginning to slow, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Quickly she rose to her feet and grabbed her holdall. ‘Well, nice to meet you. Take care.’

‘I hope you find him.’

‘Thanks.’ Sadie made her way through the compartment, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. She had a sudden fear that the girl might decide to follow her, like one of those stray dogs that attach themselves and refuse to go away. It was only when the doors opened and she was about to step out on to the platform that she risked a quick look back. The seat was empty. Mona was gone. And suddenly the whole strange encounter felt like a figment of her imagination.

2

A bitter wind blew the length of the platform, making Sadie shiver. She turned up the collar of her coat as she hurried towards the steps that would take her out of the station. Now all she had to do was find somewhere to stay, somewhere cheap she could use as a base until she caught up with Eddie. She couldn’t afford to waste money on a fancy hotel. The private detective had cost her a fortune, although whether it had been cash well spent remained to be seen. Maybe Eddie had already moved on, concerned that she was snapping at his heels.

As she emerged on to the small but busy concourse, her eyes automatically raked the faces as if by some miracle her husband might be in the crowd. But of course it would never be that easy. She felt a wave of tiredness wash over her as she contemplated all the pubs and clubs and cafés she would need to check out over the next few days. And what if it was all a waste of time? No, she couldn’t afford to think like that. She had to stay positive, to believe that she would eventually find him.

Sadie’s knowledge of Kellston was slight. She had only been here once before, years ago when Eddie had shown her the place where he’d been born. What she did remember, however, was the row of guest houses on Station Road. As she walked through the exit, she was relieved to find that they were still there.

The big red-brick Victorian houses, once home to the wealthy middle classes, had long since fallen into disrepair, the exteriors shabby, the interiors divided and subdivided into as many money-making rooms as possible. Most of them had a Vacancies sign in the window.

Sadie crossed the road, weaving between the cars that were waiting for the traffic lights to change. She hurried along the row, peering at all the houses. Which bell was she going to ring? There was plenty of choice, but little way of knowing what the actual accommodation would be like. With the cold nipping at her face and fingers, she decided to take pot luck and plumped for one called Oaklands, purely on the grounds that there was a light on in the porch.

The woman who answered the door was elderly, small and thin with a tight, blue-tinted perm. ‘Yes?’

‘Hello,’ Sadie said. ‘I’m after a room for a few days. A single. Do you have anything available, please?’

The woman looked Sadie up and down as if she’d come for a job interview, her beady eyes raking her body from head to toe. ‘I only rent out by the week. That any good for you?’

‘How much is it?’

She gave the price, paused and then added, ‘That includes breakfast and a change of sheets.’

Sadie hesitated. It was hardly extortionate but she could, perhaps, find something cheaper if she kept on looking. And would she really need it for a whole week? The cold, however, was starting to creep over her and all she wanted was to get inside and get warm. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘That’s fine.’

‘I’ll be needing the money up front.’

Sadie reached into her bag, took out the purse and passed the notes over. Only then did the landlady step aside and allow her into the hall.

‘What name is it?’

‘Sadie, Sadie Wise.’

‘Right, well, I’m Mrs Cuthbert. The house rules are: no visitors, no noise and no food in the rooms. Breakfast is available from seven to nine-thirty.’ She waved a hand in the general direction of the far end of the hallway. ‘Along there, in the dining room. Cereal and toast. If you want something hot there’s a café on the high street.’

‘Okay.’

‘It’s the second floor,’ said Mrs Cuthbert, pulling a key out of her pocket. ‘Number six, on the right off the landing. I won’t come up with you, dear. I’ve got the arthritis and these stairs play buggery with my knees.’

Sadie gave a nod, took the key and began to climb upstairs. ‘Thank you.’ The inside of the guest house was clean, if somewhat down at heel. The décor probably dated back to the Fifties, the paintwork was chipped and the rail of the banisters worn to a shine by the number of palms that had travelled along it. As she made the ascent her thoughts flew back to the girl on the train. It had been a strange meeting and one that she was glad to put behind her. There had been something highly disturbing about Mona Farrell.

Sadie reached the second landing and quickly found number six. As she put the key in the lock, she could hear the tinny sound of a radio coming from the room opposite: Jennifer Rush’s ‘The Power of Love’. She pushed open the door and flicked on the light, her heart sinking a little as she saw what lay beyond.

The room was about twelve foot square, sparsely furnished with a single bed, a ramshackle wardrobe, a chair and a chest of drawers. The beige carpet was threadbare and the faded flowery wallpaper was peeling in places. It smelled musty, as if it had been unoccupied for a while. She took a deep breath, refusing to be downhearted. What did it matter? She wouldn’t be here for long.

Sadie went in, threw her bag on the bed and walked over to the window. The room overlooked the main road, and to the right she could see the station and to the left a pub called the Fox. A roar of traffic came through the glass, a rush of cars, buses and taxis. Every now and again, as the lights changed, the noise dropped to the more gentle sound of engines ticking over.

It was cold in the room and there was no central heating. She quickly turned, crouched down and tried to light the gas fire. For some reason it wouldn’t come on. Was it broken? She twisted the switch but again nothing happened. It was then that she heard the voice behind her.

‘It’s on a meter, hon. You’ll have to pop in a 50p.’

Sadie looked over her shoulder to where a woman was standing in the open doorway. She was tall, in her forties, and was wearing a short brown leather skirt, cream blouse and knee-high boots. ‘Oh, right. Thanks, I didn’t realise.’