‘Do you know where the secretaire in the study came from? It’s so different to all the other furniture here.’

He gave a half-smile. ‘I think it belonged to Emily originally, but I’m not sure.’

‘I’m going to take it home to Arran,’ said Nina. Typical. Another lovely thing that hadn’t been John Moore’s. She would turn Claire’s room in the farmhouse into a study, she thought suddenly. The secretaire could go there, and it would be good to have something of Emily’s as well. A real family room.

Sabine started a conversation about supposed old friends, and Nina joined in reluctantly. It was hellish, sitting there trying to chat about things the two of them might remember, and a huge relief when the other woman suggested catching the news on TV. As soon as the weather forecast was finished Nina went through to the kitchen and made a pot of spaghetti, opening a jar of pesto to go with it.

Paul picked at his food but made no move to leave when the meal was over. Nina sat at the kitchen table massaging her temples and watching Sabine wash the spaghetti pan. Dear God, she was exhausted. And she was going to be up for hours yet; no way would she be able to sleep until she knew what happened during Sabine’s late-night trip through the park. Plus, and the thought hadn’t struck her until now – would she be all alone here when Sabine left? At least Sam would be back by that time… But the odds were that David wouldn’t allow Sam anywhere near this place, because if the blackmailer was watching, the arrival of a fit young lawyer would make things even more complicated. Maybe they’d send someone to guard the house when Sabine was gone; after all, there was no guarantee the letter-writer wouldn’t break in and torch the place before he went to the park. Bloody hell.

‘Nina, we’ll talk about holidays,’ said Sabine in a low voice, when Paul went into the downstairs toilet. ‘If he’s still here at eight suggest he goes home and comes back tomorrow.’

When they’d exhausted the subject of holidays Sabine started asking about the photos, encouraging Paul to tell them about his childhood. Nina found it hard to listen as he revealed further details about his mother’s increasing dependence on alcohol, and how she’d left Paul to organise his own meals and often wash his own clothes too. She died when Paul was thirteen.

‘So you were in care?’ said Sabine, and to Nina’s dismay Paul glowered at her.

‘I don’t talk about that time,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s best forgotten.’

Tears were bright in his eyes, and Nina ached for him. Puberty was a difficult time for any child, and Paul must have had it worse than most. She would sit him down for a long talk before she went home, see if she could change his mind about going to some kind of therapy.

She squinted at the clock on the back wall, trying to do it unobtrusively. She was unsuccessful. Paul jumped up from his chair at the photos table and flung himself down on the sofa.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘I’ll be gone soon. I have to pick my girlfriend up after her French class.’

‘Paul, don’t. We’re all edgy and scared. It’s all right.’ Nina sat on the arm of the sofa beside him.

‘I know. Sorry.’

He gave her a brief smile then went to the window, where he stood jiggling from one foot to the other, staring outside. Dark clouds was gathering overhead; by the looks of things it was going to rain soon.

‘I’ll make more coffee before you go,’ said Sabine, retreating to the kitchen. Nina heaved a sigh. It was easier when Sabine wasn’t in the room; all the pretending was more than draining. She joined Paul at the window and patted his shoulder, feeling almost maternal, then remembered she had promised to call Naomi. Shit. Right this minute she simply didn’t trust herself to talk to her daughter as if everything was normal. Maybe a text message would be better. She pulled out her phone and flopped down on the sofa to text in comfort.

She was in the middle of her message when the phone rang in the study, and her heart leapt into her mouth.

‘Oh God, Paul – suppose that’s the blackmailer?’

Sabine was in the doorway. ‘I’ll get it. If it’s him he might stay on the line longer if he thinks I’m going to fetch you.’

She left her coffee tray on the table and strode through to the study. Paul wandered out to the hallway, and Nina finished adding smilies to her text and sent the message, hoping Naomi wouldn’t call right back. Not that this was likely. Naomi had only had her own phone since her father’s departure to South Africa, and sending text messages was still a novelty. Sure enough, just moments later the answering text came in.

‘luv u 2. cu 2morrow. xoxo’

Nina grinned. Nothing to worry about there.

She was standing up to see what was happening with the phone when a door slammed shut in the passage and Paul careered into the living room, his face deathly pale and a sheen of sweat on his brow. Nina jumped back.

‘Paul! What’s happ- ?’

He grabbed her arm. ‘Quick! We have to go, now, bring the bag! That was the police on the phone – there’s a bomb hidden here!’

Nina’s legs began to shake. ‘Shit – no – what – ’

‘Come on, Nina!’

He was pulling her towards the door, and Nina grabbed the sports bag and her handbag and ran with him out to his car.

‘Sabine!’ she yelled over her shoulder.

‘She’s still on the phone. It was her police-boss who called. I knew she wasn’t really your friend, by the way. I wish you’d trusted me with the truth.’

Nina’s stomach lurched as she saw the hurt expression on his face. He propelled her into his car and she flung both bags on the back seat.

‘Paul, I’m sorry. They said not to tell anyone, not even family. Shouldn’t we wait for Sabine?’

He shook his head, pulling away from the kerb and gunning the car towards the main road. ‘She has to join her boss.’

Nina scrabbled for the seat belt. Would this affect the plan for tonight? And what would the police do about the bomb? ‘Where are we going?’

Paul’s voice was shaking. ‘He said to get well away for a while. They’ll be in touch. We’ll go to mine.’

They stopped at the traffic lights and Nina sat consciously relaxing her clenched fists. Thank God they’d got away safely. Paul turned into the High Street, and Nina looked out at people wandering along the pavement, on the way to the pub, maybe, or the cinema. Lucky ordinary people. She couldn’t hear anything, but the police must be blue-lighting to the house right this minute. Was there a bomb disposal unit on standby in a small place like Bedford? And actually, going to Paul’s might not be the best idea.

‘Paul, let’s go to Cassie Harrison’s,’ she suggested. It would be so great to be with Naomi again at last.

Paul pushed the car into gear as the lights changed and swung round the corner away from the High Street.

‘You don’t want to lead anyone who might be following us straight to Naomi, do you?’

 His voice was grim, and Nina winced. He was right, they didn’t know what kind of people they were dealing with here. David Mallony thought only one person was involved – possibly George Wright – but of course there was no certainty about that.

Nina shivered. George Wright and bombs didn’t seem to go together, in fact it was difficult to understand why anyone would want to bomb John Moore’s house. Or – was she the target, not the house? Her and the money? Bloody hell, how improbable that sounded… and the blackmailer wouldn’t risk blowing up the money… Of course he might have counted on her leaving and taking it with her – and that was exactly what she’d done. Shit, maybe he was trailing the car. She turned in her seat to see out the back window, but everything looked quite normal.

A road sign indicating Cambridge loomed up and Nina gaped at it. A sense of direction wasn’t her strong point, but she did know that Cambridge was in the opposite direction to Newport Pagnell.