‘Yes. Emily. Mr Grey’s ex.’
‘Wow.’
‘Yeah.
‘Well.’ Cassiereallywanted to ask Henry for every detail he had. Obviously, she couldn’t. Not until she knew him a bit better, anyway. ‘Thank you so much for your help. That’s the first time I’ve ever experienced anything like that.’
‘Would you like me to call the police?’
‘I don’t think so. Although is she likely to come back?’
‘This is the first time for a while.’
‘Maybe weshouldcall the police. How many times has she been?’
‘Six or seven, I’d say. This is the first time she’s got back up here. I’m very sorry.’
‘Honestly, it really isn’t your fault. You really shouldn’t blame yourself.’ Surely James should blamehimself, though, for not mentioning his stalker to Cassie.
Seven
James
James turned towards the shore to begin the sprint finish to his swim. There was a woman there, waving manically at him. She was shouting. Something about neighbours. James didn’t really want to spend his Monday morning speaking to someone who might be great to talk to but might equally be a younger version of Laura and bombard him with personal questions.
How was it possible that in a large city you could avoid your thousands of neighbours but on a small island they were in your face the whole time? He waved, turned round and swam away from her.
When he got back, the woman had gone, good news.
He checked through the messages on his phone on his way through the garden to the house. There was one from Ella, meaning that he now owed her about four texts or calls. Guilt, again. Maybe he’d send her a message later, with some photos of the beach for his nieces.
After a shower he discovered that the Wi-Fi was still on the blink. It had been erratic all morning apart from first thing.
Okay. He could get round this. He could work in the garden and hotspot himself from his phone until it was up and running again.
Working in the garden wasn’t bad. Incredibly different from sitting in a London office. Something to consider in promoting get-away-from-it-all tourism opportunities to workaholics.
Yeah, this was great, really.
No. What was that? It was a raindrop on his screen.
It was a bloody deluge. James grabbed his laptop and sprinted for the house. Extraordinary how fast that rain had come. Laura hadn’t been wrong when she’d said, ‘If you don’t like the weather here, wait ten minutes.’
The Wi-Fi was still down. So what the hell was he going to do now?
He was going to find some shelter for his phone just outside Cassie’s study window so that he could continue the hotspotting but work inside.
A golf umbrella, a large bowl and a rock worked well as a phone shelter but now he was on the other side of a wall from his phone. Christ, this was frustrating. Bloody countryside.
He went outside at lunchtime to check his phone. He had a message from Cassie. About bed sheets, unbelievably. Another one came through as he was holding his phone. What now? Another housekeeping question? Should he have bought her toothpaste? Left her details of local knitting clubs and piano recitals?
Oh, Jesus.
Emily came round. Asked if I was your cleaner. Barged straight into the flat and searched for you. I had to call security.
Shit. So unacceptable. He was going to have to call Cassie.
‘Hi, James.’
