Back in the bedroom, I sit on the bed, put my bag on my knees, and riffle through the contents. The first thing I see is a passport. I check the name quickly; even though I’ll no longer be dead, I want to be sure I can still be Amelie Lamont. The photograph is one I took not long before Papa died.
There are other things in the bag, things that were there before—tissues, lip gloss, my purse, the keys I’ve always kept for my childhood house in Reading—and things that weren’t—a set of keys with a remote attached, and my phone. I take my phone, switch it on, and see that it’s fully charged. The only people I messaged on a regular basis were Carolyn, Justine, and Lina, and occasionally Vicky, if I was running late for work. There are countless messages from Carolyn. I scroll to the one she sent on the twenty-sixth of July, in response to the photo I’d sent her from the plane.
Amelie, if you haven’t taken off yet, call me. It’s urgent. Something has happened that you should know about x
It breaks my heart to read the following twenty or so messages, all from Carolyn, all asking me to call urgently. She must have been so worried when I didn’t reply. But I understand now; I hadn’t left my phone on the plane, Ned had taken it and, at the same time, had damaged my computer.
I find a message from Carolyn on August 2, the day after my wedding to Ned, sent after she called me at the hotel to tell me of his assault on Justine.
Amelie, is it true? Did you really get married to Ned? It’s all over the news.
Then, the following morning, other messages, followed by:
I know you’re probably not getting these messages, otherwise you would have phoned me. But if you are getting them, please at least message me back. I need to know that you’re OK.
And then a message, supposedly from me, sent to Carolyn from my phone two days after Ned and I arrived back in the UK.
Hi Carolyn, thanks for your concern but I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m busy right now. Please don’t worry, I’m fine, really happy to be married to Ned. I’ll call you soon.
No wonder Carolyn hadn’t believed it. I would never have told Carolyn that I was too busy to see her.
There aren’t any messages from Justine, and I have to fight back tears. If what I think is true, she would have already been dead by the time I left for Las Vegas.
I move from the bed, aware that I need to finish my tour of the house. Taking my phone, and Ned’s, I leave the bedroom, find another four bedrooms, all with en suites, and return to the kitchen. I check the clock: it’s eight-fifteen, almost time to carry out the next part of the instructions. I falter a moment; it seems too enormous, what they’ve asked me to do. But I have no choice.
I make a quick mental check to be sure I’ve completed the first part properly.
First, look around you. Take note of where you are, familiarize yourself with the kitchen, then with the rest of the house. Walk around, open cupboards, touch things. Remember, for the last two weeks, you and Ned have been living here as man and wife.
In the master bedroom upstairs, you’ll find your clothes. You will also see half-packed suitcases; today, you and Ned were heading back to his house in Wentworth.
Before you have a shower, lie down in the bed for a moment, as if you’ve been sleeping in it. Your phone is in your bag; look at the last messages you received once you’ve had your shower. Ned’s phone is on his bedside table. When you leave the bedroom, take it with you to the kitchen. At 8:20 a.m. precisely, continue to the next part of your instructions.
CHAPTER TWO
It’s 8:20 a.m. Pushing my chair back, I go into the hall, turn toward the main door. Taking a bunch of keys from a hook, I read the labels to find the right key, unlock the door, and pull it closed behind me. I hurry to a small gate to the right of the main gates, recognizing Ned’s car parked on the drive. I press the buzzer to open the gate, step onto the pavement, and start running to the right. At the end of the road, there’s a barrier. Looking down, I see the beach below. I look for a way to reach it and about fifty yards to the left, find some zigzag steps leading to a promenade.
I run down the steps, jump from the low wall of the promenade onto the beach. There are a few people around and I hurry to a couple walking their dog along the sand.
“Excuse me,” I say, breathing hard. “I’m looking for my husband, he told me he was going to the beach for a walk and he hasn’t come back yet. He’s medium build, dark hair, gray eyes, he’s wearing knee-length navy shorts and a white polo shirt. Have you seen him?”