I’m in the gym, pounding the treadmill like there’s no tomorrow, despite having promised myself I’d take it easier on the exercise front. I see no other way to deal with my stress, the email I woke up to hounding my mind and making it impossible to think about anything else. I crank up the speed so that I am sprinting, my arms and legs working at full capacity until the sweat pours off me, my lungs pushed to the limit, my heart rate dangerously high according to the monitor attached to my vest top.
I keep wondering how long my stalker has been watching me. Since Charles died? Longer? And if it’s the latter, could it be the same person I thought of earlier? Someone who promised I’d never hear from them again so long as I abided by their conditions, but who may, in fact, have been watching me all this time. But why choose to make contact now? Is it because of what happened with Ethan? Are the emails designed to stop Seb asking questions the way Ethan did?
I can’t believe I’m contemplating this because it sounds so outlandish, almost like something out of a movie, but I’m thinking I need to get someone in to check the house for spyware. How to explain this to Seb, though? He’s only just moved in, for Christ’s sake. Plus, being a writer, he’s bound to be spending a lot of time here, meaning it’s going to be tricky finding a window to carry out a search without him around. The only time I can be certain he’ll be out for a few hours is when he’s working his bar shifts. I’ll get someone to do a sweep once I find out when he’s next on duty. I’ll not rest until I know if this whacko has actually infiltrated the premises or they’re just toying with me to make me feel like my every move is under scrutiny.
So many unsettling things seem to have happened in quick succession lately, what with Ethan, Dr Adams and now these creepy emails, it’s hard to think straight. I keep worrying what’s next, whether this nightmare I’ve found myself in will ever end.
My chest is starting to hurt so I slow the machine down, conscious I’ve reached my limit, until it gradually comes to a stop. I bow my head, my knees a little shaky from pushing myself so hard, the sweat dripping off me and making unsightly puddles on the belt.
‘Adriana, are you OK?’
Seb’s voice makes me jump as I swivel around in surprise. He’s standing just a few feet away.
‘Seb, Christ, sorry I didn’t hear you come in, just catching my breath here.’
‘Sorry, I seem to be making a habit of scaring you,’ he apologises.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got so used to being alone in the house, it’s made me a little jittery, I guess.’
The creepy emails don’t help.
‘How was your run?’ I ask as I step off the machine and use the hand towel I brought down from upstairs to mop the sweat from my brow, chest and the back of my neck.
He hesitates, which strikes me as odd. After all, it’s a simple question. His eyes seem harried, like something’s happened to unsettle him. Although I could be imagining things, of course. Because of my own anxiety.
‘Good, exactly what I needed,’ he says. ‘Hangover’s practically gone.’
‘Great.’ I smile. Then glance at my watch. ‘You didn’t stop off at a cafe then? You seem back too early for that.’
‘No, I didn’t feel like it in the end. Bit too sweaty. I just wanted to check you were OK.’ He bites his lip. ‘Sorry, that sounds a little patronising. I mean, why wouldn’t you be OK, you’re a grown woman. I don’t know why I said that.’
There’s something wrong, I can tell. Has he received a message too? I badly want to ask him, but the email made it clear I’ll be placing his life in danger if I mention it, which is the last thing I want. ‘That’s very sweet,’ I say. ‘And as you can see, I’m fine. Think I’ll take a shower then grab some breakfast. I’m getting a Waitrose delivery tomorrow. Do you need anything?’
‘Thanks, but I’ll probably pop out and do a shop of my own, don’t want to complicate things.’
I smile again, thinking how awkward things suddenly feel between us. ‘It’s really no bother, but I completely get where you’re coming from.’
We leave the gym, then start walking up the stairs, my legs feeling heavier with every step. ‘Thanks again for the lovely meal last night,’ Seb says. ‘You’re an excellent cook.’
‘My pleasure, my Aunt Georgie taught me well.’
‘Do you still see a lot of her?’
‘I try to see her and Uncle Philip at least twice a month. I usually get the train to Guildford, or they sometimes drive here and stay over.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Yes, I’m very fortunate. Actually, I spoke with Aunt Georgie yesterday and she said they might visit soon. They were naturally very upset to hear about Dr Adams. They knew how fond I was of him and wanted to make sure I’m OK. They were the same after Charles died.’
Seb gives me a warm smile. ‘They sound like kind people. It’s nice you still have family close by who you can talk to.’
He says this sincerely but there’s no mistaking the sadness in his voice. ‘It is,’ I say. ‘And I’m sorry your mother’s family lives so far away. I’m guessing you don’t have any relatives in the UK?’
‘Yep. That’s right. All Mum’s family are in Nigeria while Dad was an only child. His parents died some years ago. When I was four or five, I think.’
‘I’m so sorry. But I’ll be glad to introduce Georgie and Philip to you. They were fond of Ethan and I’m sure they’ll be equally fond of you.’
‘Thanks.’ Seb’s face lights up with a smile. ‘I’m very much looking forward to meeting them.’
By now we’ve reached the first floor and find ourselves hovering on the landing.
‘Are you working tonight?’ I ask casually. It’s probably too late to get anyone in to check for spyware, but I see this as a good opportunity to check Seb’s shift times for future reference.
‘No, not tonight. I usually work Saturdays, but my boss knew I was moving house yesterday so I swapped shifts with a guy who works Sundays.’
‘So you’re working tomorrow?’
Shit, I hope that didn’t sound too keen.
‘Yes.’
Bingo. ‘Well, you’d better make the most of your rare Saturday night off then. Any plans?’
‘No, not really. I might try and get another couple of chapters written. Maybe watch a film. You don’t mind me chilling out in the TV living room, do you?’
‘Seb, don’t be daft. Mi casa, su casa. I’m not a big TV person, as Max may have mentioned. I tend to read.’
He smiles. ‘I heartily approve.’
I smile back. ‘Maybe I can read your book once you’ve finished it?’
Seb looks a little alarmed and I laugh.
‘It’s fine, I don’t have to. I just know authors have beta readers and if I can help in any way, give you my thoughts or advice, I’d be only too happy to. But no pressure.’
He grins. ‘That’s kind, I just worry you’ll think it’s crap.’
I laugh. ‘I doubt that.’
We hold each other’s gaze, a delicious tension filling the air around us, before we part company and I go to my room to take a shower, being sure to shut and lock the door behind me.
I think how nice it’s been chatting to Seb, talking about normal stuff. So nice, that for a few minutes I’d forgotten about the email, about the fact that I am being watched. But then, as I glance up at the ceiling, thinking how easy it would be to hide a camera up there, a sense of dread floods my insides, while the guilt I feel at having not been honest with Seb fills me with self-loathing, simply because it’s a feeling I’m all too familiar with.
Only in this instance I don’t see that I have a choice but to hide the email from him.
Not if I want to keep Seb safe.