My heart was not mistaken. When I returned to the hotel after Christmas, I had not taken three steps across the foyer before I heard my name.

“Miss Hope!” It was the little round man who worked the evening shift behind the reception desk. “I have messages for you.”

I approached the desk. The receptionist took several pieces of paper from the pigeonhole marked with my room number and passed them to me. Mystified, I thanked him.

They were telephone messages, written in the varying handwriting of several receptionists. All of them said more or less the same thing: Mr Penn wishes to speak to Miss Hope as soon as she arrives. Please could she telephone Thamesbank 067. The messages also reported the times and dates of his calls, at least twice a day over the last three days. He had been persistent.

I went to the telephone box near the entrance to the hotel bar, shut the folding door and picked up the receiver. “Thamesbank 067,” I said to the operator, and after a short silence, the phone rang in David’s house. My heart raced, my hairline felt damp, the hand that was not grasping the receiver shook a little. David, David my love, eager to see me, impatient for my return, missing me…

“Hello?”

I was so taken aback to hear a woman’s voice, I did not answer.

“Hello? Who is this, please?” she asked sharply.

“Is that … um … Mr Penn’s residence?”

“It is.” The sharp tone had subsided a little. “May I help you?”

I had gathered my wits. “I’d like to speak to him, please.”

“Whom shall I say is calling?”

“Miss Hope.”

“Very well. One moment.”

I heard the click-clicking of the woman’s shoes on polished floorboards, and muffled voices.

Then a man’s footsteps approached. “Clara? Is that you?”

“Oh, David!”

“You got my messages, then?”

“Yes. Is something the matter? Or did you just want … I don’t know, to talk to me?”

He laughed. A small, gurgling laugh like an amused child. “Of course I wanted to talk to you! My darling, I always want to talk to you! But yes, I suppose something is the matter. I’d rather tell you about it in person, though. Would you like to go out?”

“Actually, David, I’m rather tired. I’ve been travelling all day.”

I hoped he would suggest that his driver pick me up and bring me to his house on the island, but he did not. I could hear him drawing his breath through his teeth, calculating. “Then I’ll be at the hotel in … thirty minutes? Meet you in the bar.”