Maddy would go mental when she found out.

Sucking in her stomach – something she found herself doing almost instinctively whenever she looked at Jake – Nuala watched him saunter over to the bulldog, unhook its lead from the fencepost and cajole the overweight animal to its feet. Then he said something else to Kate, handed the dog over to her and gave her forearm a reassuring squeeze.

What a traitor. So much for family loyalty. Didn’t Jake realise that some people didn’t deserve to be smiled at like that?

‘Nuala?’ Dexter’s voice bellowed up the stairs. ‘Get a bloody move on, will you? If you’ve fallen asleep up there, you’re sacked.’

Not that she was jealous of the attention Jake was paying Kate. Not properly jealous anyway. She had Dexter – she and Dexter lived together – and he was all she wanted. It was just that you could be perfectly happy with one man and still harbour a teeny crush on another. If they were honest, probably every woman who met Jake had a teeny crush on him. It must be quite strange to be Maddy, having Jake as a brother and not secretly fancying him.

‘ Nuala! Get your backside down here this minute.’

Hastily, Nuala kicked her discarded four-inch turquoise stilettos under the bed and slipped her feet into less exotic but far comfier two-inch heels. She had Dexter and she was happy with Dexter, but he did like to see her dressed like a glamour girl and, being a man, he simply had no idea how excruciating four-inch stilettos could be. God knows, she’d never make it as a Playboy Bunny. Two hours of crippling pain was as much as she could bear in one shift. Tonight she would put the turquoise ones on again, but for now the low-heeled suede mules would just have to do. Quickly checking in the wardrobe mirror that her reddish-brown hair wasn’t too messy, that her cream top was still free of drink stains and that her new caramel skirt didn’t make her bum look vast, Nuala exhaled with disappointment. Failed on all three counts, and the wet patch of lager was situated directly over her left breast. Hastily she brushed her hair, slicked ohanother layer of glossy toffee lipstick and jacked the belt round her waist in by another notch.

Dexter wasn’t what you’d call an easygoing character. She loved him to bits but there was no denying that sometimes he could be tricky to live with. Volatile and impatient, he could teach Basil Fawlty a thing or two about being temperamental. Living and working with Dexter was like standing too close to a pyromaniac with a box of fireworks – at any moment the whole lot could go off.

‘We need another crate of Cokes from the cellar,’ said Dexter when Nuala arrived downstairs.

His gaze dropped to her feet. ‘Got your granny shoes on, I see.’

He wanted her to be Liz Hurley, Rita Hayworth and Jessica Rabbit all rolled into one. Nuala’s only comfort was in knowing that, with his receding hairline, expanding paunch and waspish put-downs, Liz Hurley wouldn’t look twice at Dexter.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she was the only one he insulted – anyone was fair game. And he was actually a lot nicer in private, when it was just the two of them together. Rolling his eyes in despair and mocking her shortcomings was his way of entertaining the customers; she knew he didn’t mean it, deep down.

‘My feet were hurting. It’s either these or my furry slippers,’ said Nuala.

‘God save us,’ Dexter roared, to his audience. ‘She’s turning into Nora Batty.’ Shaking his head in disgust at Nuala he said, ‘You are such a frump.’

Nuala smiled; she knew she wasn’t a frump.

‘I’ve just seen Jake chatting to Kate Taylor-Trent.’ Then, because he was looking blank, ‘The one who called me fat the other night.’

‘So? You are fat.’

He didn’t mean it. All for show.

Chapter 10

The lamb chops were sizzling under the grill when Maddy arrived home from work. Foil-wrapped potatoes were baking in the oven and a bowl of salad sat on top of the fridge. With Sophie out at her party, the house was silent apart from the hiss of the shower running upstairs.

By the time Jake appeared, wearing a red and white striped towel around his waist, Maddy had boiled the kettle and made two mugs of tea.

‘Thanks.’ Taking a mouthful, Jake froze then spat it back into the mug. ‘Jesus, what did you put in that?’

‘Tabasco. And salt. And mustard,’ Maddy added serenely, because Jake particularly loathed mustard.

‘Why? Oh fuck, that is disgusting, my tongue’s going to drop off.’ Racing to the sink as the slow-burn of Tabasco kicked in, he put his mouth under the mixer tap and tried to rinse away the taste.

‘Good. Maybe if you didn’t have a tongue you wouldn’t be able to chat up girls like – ooh, let me see, girls like Kate Taylor-Trent.’

‘I wasn’t chatting her up. Mum just said be nice to her. Polite, that’s all.’ Still vigorously rinsing and spitting, Jake reached blindly for the kitchen roll.

‘From what I hear, you were being more than polite. She’s a stroppy cow and you have no business chatting her up when she’s been so vile to me.’

Jake straightened up, drying his mouth with kitchen paper.

‘Look, you’re both adults now. She’s back, and in a place this size you can’t just ignore her. It’s stupid. Put it behind you.’

He really had no idea. He’d heard all her grievances before, but he hadn’t been the one on the receiving end of Kate’s snide remarks.

‘She and her school friends used to make fun of me because Marcella was black, Kate said hateful things about her—’

‘And she probably regrets it now. We all do stupid things when we’re young.’ Swallowing and pulling a face, Jake added pointedly, ‘Look at you, you’re twenty-six and still doing stupid things.’

‘You’re supposed to be on my side.’ Maddy watched him refill the kettle and drop a teabag into a fresh mug. ‘If she regretted it that much, she would have apologised.’

‘OK, I’ll tell her that, shall I?’ Jake raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll be the go-between, let her know that if she says sorry really nicely, you’ll be friends with her again.’

Maddy gave him a pitying look. ‘It wasn’t just me, you know. She said horrible things about you as well.’

‘Not any more she doesn’t.’ Amused, Jake said, ‘She fancies me rotten now. Anyway, who told you about me talking to Kate?’

Maddy counted on her fingers. ‘Nuala was watching you from the pub. Juliet saw you. And Theresa from the supermarket.’

‘Ah, the usual suspects.’ Pouring boiling water into the mug, Jake added modestly, ‘They all fancy me too.’

When Kerr McKinnon had moved back to Bath five months ago, he had rented a flat in the heart of the city, just a few hundred yards from the offices of Callaghan and Fox. He drove out to his mother’s old house every week or so just to keep an eye on the place, check that it hadn’t burned to the ground or been taken over by an army of squatters, but he hadn’t ever driven the extra couple of miles and revisited Ashcombe.

This time, purely out of curiosity, he did.

OK, it possibly had something to do with Maddy Harvey, but he thought it would be nice to see how the place looked, find out if it had changed much in the last ten years.

With the evening sun now low in the sky, Kerr put on his dark glasses and switched off the stereo as he approached the outskirts of the tiny town. There was the primary school — his old school — on the right. Slowing, he passed over the hump-backed bridge that crossed the River Ash. Ahead of him, he saw the war memorial. To the left lay Main Street; to the right, Gypsy Lane. Turning left, he drove even more slowly past the Fallen Angel and an assortment of shops — some he recognised, others he didn’t. There was the Peach Tree Delicatessen where Maddy worked, then a couple of antiques shops, the small supermarket ... Carrying on up Holly Hill, Kerr reached the outskirts of the town where a new housing development had been built. He turned and headed back down the hill, this time concentrating on the row of craft and workshops on the left hand side of Main Street. There was the sign for Harvey’s Caskets, Jake’s business. And now he was passing Snow Cottage where Maddy lived with Jake and his daughter; ridiculously, he found it’ hard to tear his eyes away from the low, honey-coloured Cotswold stone building. It was like being a teenager again, wondering if Maddy was in there, but he couldn’t stop, mustn’t draw attention to himself. Instead he carried on, turning into Gypsy Lane, mentally bracing himself for the moment when he would follow the winding road round to the left and reach the spot where the accident had happened.

There it was. And he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding his breath. Exhaling slowly, Kerr saw that the wild flowers planted by Marcella Harvey were still there, marking the place where her beloved stepdaughter had died. Strangers arriving in Ashcombe might wonder about the story behind this sudden burst of colour along an otherwise undistinguished stretch of roadside. He knew that April was buried in the churchyard, and that her grave would bear a profusion of flowers too.

Continuing up the narrow lane, he saw the figure of a woman ahead, walking a dog. With her back to him, wearing a baggy grey jogging suit and a baseball cap on her head, it was impossible to gauge the identity of the dog-walker.

Of course if this was a Hollywood movie, the dog would lurch suddenly off the pavement and into the road, dragging its owner after him. Kerr, paying attention, would brake in plenty of time but the juggernaut screaming down the hill at sixty miles an hour wouldn’t be able to stop or swerve to avoid them. If he hadn’t leaped out of his own car at superhuman speed and snatched the woman — and her dog