The perfect place to wait.

He angled the car in to the kerb and parked. Switching off the engine, he adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could watch the road behind him, then glanced at the dashboard clock. Just over half an hour to go.

Leaning back, he adjusted his seat to make himself more comfortable, and turned on the radio.

It was nearly half past five, a little later than he’d expected, when he spotted the silver car approaching. He already had the engine running as it passed, and pulled out behind it as it slowed for the traffic lights.

So close . . .

The light changed to green and they passed under the railway, emerging onto a wider street with larger houses on either side. Driving carefully, he followed the silver car down towards the main road.

It was important to keep the distance between them right – too close, and he could end up sitting behind him at the junction long enough to be noticed; too far and he might lose him altogether.

He took it slowly, allowing a slight gap to open up between them, coasting gently along for a hundred yards, then accelerating as he saw the Honda’s brake lights go off. They turned right onto the main road, but swung left down a small side street a moment later.

At least the man used his indicators. That would make the task somewhat easier.

They followed a small road that wound its way down beyond the last of the houses, past wide playing fields and out across a low water meadow. A bridge took them over the calm river that gently meandered between the trees. Naysmith hung back as far as he could, but the road was quiet and the silver Honda was travelling slowly.

They were well outside the city now, and the target was moving faster. At a roundabout, Naysmith decided to let another car slip in between them – there was no point following someone if you weren’t going to try to be subtle about it – but after a mile or so the silver Honda turned off onto a smaller road signposted ‘Petersfield’ and it was just the two of them again.

From a gentle dip, they climbed a broad hill crowned with trees and drove out onto the rolling South Downs. The landscape fell away on either side beneath a vast sky, and the sun gave a golden glow to the clouds on the horizon. It was like journeying into a painting . . .

They had been driving for nearly half an hour when a red car appeared in the rear-view mirror. Naysmith glanced back at it, watching as it steadily closed the distance between them.

Good.

He allowed it to overtake, gently increasing his speed to tuck in close behind it and urge it along. It would be no bad thing to have a car between him and the target again.

The silver Honda was clearly visible up ahead and, slowly, the gap between the three cars closed. Thankfully there were few opportunities to overtake after that – tall hedgerows created blind curves, and oncoming traffic made it impossible when the road did straighten out.

They continued on together, dropping slowly down between the hills until they came to a remote rural crossroads where a red light halted them. There was a large country pub on the far side of the junction, and a small petrol station opposite.

The Honda indicated right but, as the lights changed to green, the other car drove straight on, leaving Naysmith directly behind the target once more.

Where were they going? It had been well over half an hour now – how much longer could he sit behind this car without it becoming suspicious?

Cresting a long hill, the road plunged down through some trees towards another village. The Honda’s brake lights came on as they approached the bottom of the hill, but then the left indicator light started flashing as well.

Finally, he was turning off.

As the gap between the two vehicles closed, Naysmith reluctantly decided to drive on. It would be too obvious to continue the pursuit. His eyes followed the silver car as it turned down a narrow lane before being lost from view as he continued on through the village.

West Meon was a quaint little place, with well-kept houses and old flint walls that pressed close to the road winding sharply left and right between them. He took the next turning onto a small side road and pulled over to think.

He must be close now.

The lane that the silver car had disappeared down didn’t look as though it led anywhere. In all probability, this was where the target lived. It couldn’t hurt to take a quick look along that lane and see what was down there . . .

He waited a few moments, then turned the car round and crept back through the village. There it was; the little lane marked ‘High Street’. He smiled as he turned off the main road and drove slowly between the smartly whitewashed buildings that huddled close on either side. It was all rather charming – an old-fashioned butcher’s with a painted mural that read ‘Supreme Sausage Champion’, a tiny shop-cum-post-office and, moments later, a very grand-looking pub.

Naysmith glanced left and right, hunting for any sight of the silver car, but without success. He cruised on slowly until the houses thinned out and he suddenly found himself driving under the shadow of thick foliage where the lane passed through some trees.

Emerging from the gloom, he found turn-offs to a couple of narrow lanes that might lead to more houses, but he knew from experience that villagers remembered strange cars. He was driving with his own number plates on, so it was better not to take any risks. In any event, even if he had lost the Honda, he had made good progress. He checked the dashboard clock: 5.52 p.m. It would be easy enough to lie in wait down here on another day.

Satisfied with his afternoon’s work, he drove out of the village, looking for a place to turn the car round. There were a couple of houses on the left and he glanced across briefly as he passed.

There!

On a gravel driveway, set back a little from the road, sat the silver car.

K347 GMX.

He didn’t stop, just continued up the lane until he came to a small junction where three ways converged around a triangular patch of rough grass. There, he halted for a moment, suddenly aware of the excitement growing inside him. The game was moving towards its next phase.

Smiling, he drove back through the village and out to the main road. It had been an excellent day.

22

Thursday, 19 July

There was a sedate pace that people adopted in this supermarket. Everyone slowed down a little, especially the people in front of Naysmith, or so it seemed to him. He was hungry, and he didn’t like shopping when he was hungry – it made him buy things he didn’t want. Pushing the trolley around the vast store, he tried to focus on just the items he needed, but his mind was elsewhere.

It would have to happen on a Wednesday. He would need an excuse to be out for the evening, perhaps even the whole night. Nothing too specific or too complicated – he didn’t want to catch himself out with an over-elaborate lie. At the same time, if he was too vague or evasive it would make Kim suspicious. On some level, she knew he slept with other women – she had to – but as long as he wasn’t too obvious about it, he could deny it to her, and she could deny it to herself. In a way, both of them lied to protect the relationship.

Of course, it wasn’t always another woman. Sometimes, as Kim fired her tearful accusations at him, when she was so certain that he was cheating on her, he taunted himself with the idea of telling her the truth. Of gently holding her small shoulders, staring down into those wondrous eyes, and telling her where he’d really been, what he’d really been doing. But it was a hollow fantasy. Something like that could never be unsaid. So he’d deny it, and she’d accept it, and they’d end up in bed together, each as dishonest as the other.