delegates. A row of silk scarves was on display in the window of a tiny boutique and we stopped to look at them. He stood behind me, really close. Every nerve in my body was awakened and he leaned forward and brushed my hair to one side and kissed my neck.
The owner of the shop had been arranging a cashmere wrap on the shelf next to the window and she looked over and smiled at us.
“Come on,” said Harry. “I’ll treat you.”
Back home I told Tom that I’d gone out on my own to look at the shops because I didn’t want to sit with all the people at the conference. I said I was sick of listening to them talk about work by then and had bought the scarf with my savings as a treat for working over the weekend. He hadn’t taken much notice, hadn’t said a word about wasting money. He’d been a bit preoccupied and I’d quickly changed the subject, relieved he wasn’t going to cross-examine me.
Now I held the scarf to my face and breathed in the smell of Chanel’s Gabrielle that I was wearing in Paris. I hadn’t worn that perfume since. I’d wanted it to always be associated with that trip, and now in the dark, memories overlaid memories. Harry telling me he loved me. That he wanted to be with me forever. Harry standing behind me at the boutique window, close enough to touch but not quite touching. I’d thought I would faint with excitement. We’d raced back to bed afterward.
I put the scarf on the pillow next to me so that I could touch it while I slept. At one o’clock I reached out for my Kindle on my bedside cabinet. It opened at the copy of The Goldfinch that Tom had bought for me. I didn’t want to think of Harry while reading the same book as Tom. Instead I found my copy of Rebecca. I’d read it so many times that I could recite entire passages. It was so comforting. My life might be bad at the moment, but at least I wasn’t the second Mrs. de Winter. Before long I was asleep.
I woke hours later. I can’t tell you what disturbed me. My arm had come clear of the quilt; the night was warm, but still I liked to be covered and I pulled it back over me. My Kindle was facedown on the bed beside me. It had turned itself off.
And then I heard a click.
I sat up sharply and strained to hear. Was that the front door? My mind went into a free fall of panic. It sounded like the Yale lock as the door was pulled to. Was someone inside my flat?
For several minutes I sat like that, my body leaning forward so that I could hear better. I stayed absolutely still and could hear my breathing, my heart beating. There seemed to be no other sound in the flat. No footsteps. No whispering.
I grabbed my phone and dialed 999 but held back on pressing the Send button. Silently I tiptoed to the bedroom door. It was pulled to, but not shut tight. Wasn’t it shut when I went to bed? I just couldn’t remember. I opened the door an inch or two wider and peeked out, my heart racing. There was nothing in the little hallway except the coat hooks, with my jackets and a couple of handbags hanging from them. The doors to the kitchen and living room were open, and the light from the lamppost outside filtered through, giving an eerie air.
I didn’t know what to do. Should I shout, Hello? or Who’s that? One good thing about living with Tom had been that if anyone had broken into our house, he would have been on them like a rottweiler. I took a couple of steps forward and peeped down the staircase. The front door was shut. There was nothing on the doormat.
Two steps farther and I could see inside the bathroom. That was empty; there was no place to hide there. I held my breath and took a couple of steps farther on to the kitchen. The sliding door was pushed back, just as I’d left it.