– You’re there! Can’t sleep either?

I smile. It’s as if we’re connected somehow.

– No. Had a good time?

– I only got in about an hour ago. I didn’t want to go to bed.

– Why?

– Hoping I’d get the chance to speak to you, I suppose. I was going to ring, but didn’t want to wake you.

I feel a mix of emotions. I’m flattered, yet relieved. Hugh would have heard the call, and who knows what he might have thought?

It would have been an irresponsible thing to do, but then I remind myself that Lukas thinks I’m single. Available.

– I wasn’t asleep.

– I couldn’t stop thinking of you. All day today. I wished there was some way you could’ve been there. Some way I could show you off to people.

I smile to myself. Not for the first time I wonder how he always manages to say the right thing.

After a moment his next message arrives.

– I have a confession.

I try to keep it light.

– Sounds ominous! Good or bad?

– I don’t know.

Is this it, I think?

– Then you’d better tell me.

I wonder how I’d feel if he were to type, ‘I was in Paris in February and I did a terrible thing.’

I remember the Facebook page I’ve looked at. It’s not that.

– It’s good, I think. I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t sure, but now I am.

There’s a pause.

– But I want to tell you face to face. I want to meet you.

Whatever is growing inside me swells further. I realize part of me wants that, too, but another part wants just to look him in the eye. To appraise him, weigh him up. To assess what he knows, or might have done.

I shake the image away. I’m getting too close to the edge. I’m married. He’s in Milan, I’m in London. I can’t see it happening. It’s a fantasy. That’s all. Preposterous. I’m only imagining it because I know it’s impossible. Lukas must exist in a box; there has to be a protective barrier between him and my real life.

Another message arrives.

– We can meet, he says. I didn’t want to tell you in case it freaked you out, but the wedding was in London.

I freeze.

– I’m here. Now.

Fear ripples through me, but it’s mixed with something else. Excitement; my stomach knots and tips, I can taste the metallic kick of adrenalin on my tongue. My excuses have vanished. He’s here, we’re in the same city. It’s as if he’s standing right in front of me. The things I’d thought about, the things he’d described doing to me, could really happen. If I want them to. But, more importantly, I could meet him, on my terms, my own turf. I could find out what he knows. Whether he knew my sister.

I try to calm myself. I type.

– Why didn’t you tell me?

I’m relieved that he can’t see me, can’t see the anxiety written on my face.

– I don’t know. I wasn’t sure you’d want to meet me. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. But something happened today. I missed you, in a weird way. Maybe because I had your number. Anyway, I know it’s what I want. You’re what I want.

His words sit there, on the screen.

You’re what I want.

– Tell me you want to meet me, too.

Do I? Yes, I think. For Kate. If he knew her she might have told him about others, people she’d met. She might’ve told him all kinds of things, things she told no one else. He might be able to help me.

I think of what both Adrienne and Anna have both told me. Be careful.

I wish I’d told him about Hugh. I wish he knew I was married, that I have a son. That things are not as simple as they seem. I could be honest then. I could tell him how impossible it is for me to meet him, no matter how much I might want to. I wouldn’t have to invent an excuse.

– You do want to meet me, don’t you?

I hesitate. I should tell him I’m busy. I have something I can’t get out of. A meeting, I could say. An appointment. I could even tell him I’m about to take a flight, off on holiday. I could be vague. ‘Such a pity,’ I’d tell him. ‘Maybe next time.’

But he’d know what that means, really. Next time, meaning, never. And then I’d lose everything, all the progress I’ve already made. And for the rest of my life I would wonder if he might have held the key to unlocking what happened that cold February night in Paris, and I’d just let him slip through my fingers.

I think back to his first words to me. You remind me of someone.

I make my decision.

– Of course! How long are you here for?

– Until Tuesday evening. We could meet that day. Around lunchtime.

I know what Adrienne would say. She’s made it clear. Talk to Hugh. Give his details to the police and then walk away.

But I can’t do that. They’ll do nothing. My hands hover over the keyboard. It’s getting light outside; soon my husband will get up, then Connor. Another day will begin, another week. Everything will be exactly the same.

I have to do something.

Chapter Fourteen

Morning. Hugh and Connor have left, for work and school. I don’t know what to do with myself.

I call Anna. She doesn’t answer, but a minute later I get a text message. ‘Everything OK?’

I tell her it’s urgent and she says she’ll make an excuse. A few minutes later she rings back. Her voice echoes; I guess she is in one of the bathrooms at work.

‘Well, we didn’t see that coming!’ she says, once I’ve explained what happened last night. ‘You’ve told him you’ll meet him?’

I think back to my final message.

‘Yes.’

‘Okay …’

‘You think it’s a bad idea.’

‘No,’ she says. ‘No. It’s just … you really need to be careful. You’re sure he’s who he says he is?’

Yes, I think. I’m as sure as I can be about someone I’ve never met.

‘He could be anyone,’ she says.

I know what she’s trying to tell me but I want someone on my side. ‘You think I shouldn’t go.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I just have to know. One way or the other.’

‘But—’

‘For Connor, as much as for me.’

She doesn’t answer. I hear something in the background, running water, voices, a door closing, then she speaks.

She sounds anxious, yet somehow excited, too, as if she senses that we’re edging closer to the truth.

‘You’ll meet him somewhere in public?’

We’ve arranged to meet in his hotel, at St Pancras.

‘Of course.’

‘Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Could you take a friend? Adrienne?’

‘He thinks we’re meeting for … well, he thinks it’s a date.’

‘So, she can sit in a corner. You don’t have to introduce her.’

She’s right. But I already know what Adrienne would say if I asked her, and there’s no one else I can go to.

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Ask her!’

‘Okay …’

I wish she weren’t so far away.

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘I know,’ she says. ‘Just promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I will.’

I get ready. I shower, moisturize. I shave my legs with a fresh razor, the same number of strokes on each leg. An absurd need for symmetry I haven’t experienced in years.

I talk to Hugh over breakfast. I toy with the idea of telling him the truth, but I know what he’ll think, what he’ll say. He’ll make me feel absurd. He’ll stop me from going through with it. And so I need an excuse, an alibi, in case he rings and I don’t answer, or comes home unexpectedly. ‘Darling,’ I say, as we sit down with our coffee. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

He looks so worried. I feel a sharp stab of guilt.

‘Oh, it’s nothing serious. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about your idea. About seeing someone. A counsellor. And I’ve decided you’re right.’

He takes my hand. ‘Julia,’ he says. ‘That’s great. I really don’t think you’ll regret it. I can ask a colleague, if you like, see if they can recommend someone—’