Read sample The Silent House | A gripping and twisty psychological thriller

Chapter One

I close my eyes and glide through the water. Swimming is my refuge, my release from the relentless pull of gravity, a place where life’s responsibilities dissolve. Usually, it soothes me. But not today.

Some days, an overwhelming dread consumes me, like a python tightening its coils around my chest, squeezing every breath from my lungs. I tell myself it’s irrational, that there’s nothing to fear, that I deserve happiness, but the voice of doom persists. It whispers insidiously that everything is too perfect, that fate is lying in wait, ready to strike. Today is one of those days.

But is my life truly perfect? Or am I blind to the flaws hiding in plain sight? No one’s life is charmed, not when you look beneath the surface. Perhaps I’m afraid to look, or worse, terrified to find that maybe I do have a charmed life. Why would I deserve that? My stomach churns, and I inhale deeply, mimicking the advice I give Joel when his nighttime fears close in. But Joel is only two, and blissfully unaware of the real monsters lurking in the shadows.

‘That’s me done,’ I say, as I backstroke toward the pool's edge.

‘Yeah, me too,’ Gil replies.

We climb out, grab our towels, and head for the showers.

‘I need to gain some weight,’ I murmur, catching my reflection in the full-length mirror. My small, pointed breasts and flat stomach stare back at me. I loved being pregnant with Joel. It was the one time I had decent-sized breasts. Danny loved them, too. I smile at the memory of him burying his head between them and the scent of his hair gel intoxicating me.

My face is flushed from the swim, and I like what I see: high cheekbones, wide blue eyes, and what Danny calls my ‘cute smile.’

‘You skip lunch too often,’ Gil says, pulling me from my reverie.

‘What?’

‘That’s why you’re so slim.’

Is that envy in her voice? Although I’m not sure why it should be. Gil is attractive; I’ve always envied her thick, glossy hair. She’s right, though. In our line of work, surgeries stretch for hours and lunch becomes an afterthought. By four, I am usually munching on a packet of crisps just to get through to dinner.

‘When’s the big move happening?’ she asks.

That familiar pang of anxiety returns. ‘Next week, hopefully. They sent the wrong-sized pool cover, and I won’t let Joel near the garden until that’s sorted.’

‘I’m so bloody envious, you know.’

I bite my lip.

‘Do you ever feel like life’s too perfect?’ I ask as we towel off.

Gil laughs, spraying mousse onto her golden hair. ‘What are you talking about?’

She’s pragmatic to a fault. Gil doesn’t believe in fate, luck, or magic. Gil always has a backup plan.

‘I don’t know… Sometimes I feel like something awful is bound to happen.’

She looks at me, wide-eyed. ‘Crikey, where did that come from? You and Danny have worked hard for everything you have. It wasn’t handed to you on a plate. You’re a brilliant paediatric surgeon with a sterling reputation, and Danny’s… well, a bloody financial wizard. You’ve got a beautiful son and a stunning house that you’ve renovated. Don’t feel guilty for being happy.’

‘Exactly,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s too perfect, and I sense that Danny is overdoing it. You know how he always wants to impress my dad. He doesn’t seem himself at the moment. Maybe buying the house was too much.’

I know I must sound neurotic. I pull my dress over my head, wishing the churning in my stomach would stop.

‘There’s no law against being happy,’ Gil insists. ‘Besides,’ she adds, ‘it’s a pretty responsible position he has. You know the toll that takes.’

She’s right. I’m seeing things that aren’t there. I am lucky, but that’s what frightens me. I have a handsome husband who turns heads wherever he goes, a beautiful son, a lovely apartment in Oxford, and soon, we’ll have our dream house in the Cotswolds, too. We have no financial worries. I should be relaxed and happy, so why am I not? Why is something niggling at me? What is it that I’m sensing, but can’t put my finger on?

‘So, what are you doing with your evening off, aside from worrying about how lucky you are? Stop being superstitious and just enjoy it all.’

I hug her. ‘Thanks, Gil.’

We work well together. She’s a great associate specialist surgeon. She’s the only person other than Danny I allow to call me ‘Jo’. I insist that everyone else calls me ‘Joanna’ or ‘Doctor Neal’. ‘Jo’ is for the special people in my life.

‘Danny is finishing early, and we’re going to Mason’s. It’s our ten-year anniversary. Danny thought we should celebrate.’

She whistles. ‘Wow, celebrating in style! Congrats.’

I glance at my phone. ‘I should head off.’ I slip on my soft cashmere cardigan, a post-baby gift from Danny.

‘Need a lift? It’s freezing out there.’

I hesitate. A lift would get me home faster, but the crisp air might clear my head. After all, I missed my morning run today due to a work Zoom meeting .

‘I’ll walk, thanks. I promised Joel I’d grab him a comic on the way home.’

‘Have a fab time,’ she says brightly. ‘I’ve got a Tinder date. He looks pretty fit, but will probably turn out to be a psycho.’

‘Be careful,’ I say, unable to keep the anxiety from creeping into my voice. I worry about Gil and her Tinder dates. You hear too often about women being attacked or ending up with some controlling creep.

‘Don’t worry. We’re meeting in a public place and all that,’ she reassures me, grabbing her bag. ‘See you in the morning.’

We part at the gym entrance. The cold hits me like a slap, and slices through my coat. I shove my hands deep into my pockets, shoulders hunched, trying to keep the chill at bay. I stop at the corner shop and pick up a chocolate bar and Joel’s comic, exchanging a few friendly words with the shopkeeper before heading past the dimly lit industrial estate.

As I walk, my mind flits to what I’ll wear for dinner. Mason’s has a strict dress code. After much deliberation, I settle on the blue dress and chiffon scarf I wore to a friend’s wedding last week.

The road ahead, stretching past the industrial estate, is poorly lit and almost deserted, and then I see it: a white van, idling at the side of the road. For a second, my pace falters. There’s something wrong. Something off. A flicker of instinct flares in my gut.

As I pass, I glance toward the driver’s window and freeze.

A man stares back at me. He’s wearing a balaclava.

My breath catches in my throat. My heart slams into my ribs. Then, the van door flies open.

Panic detonates inside me. He’s coming for me. There’s no mistaking it. I spin and run, my feet pounding the pavement, my lungs burning. I’m a runner. I should be faster. I need to be faster.

But he’s gaining on me. He’s too fast. A second later, he’s on me.

His arms lock around my body like a vice. I scream – a sharp, desperate wail – but his gloved hand crushes my mouth, silencing me. I stomp on his foot, a futile act of defiance. He drags me towards the van.

‘No, please… don’t hurt me,’ I gasp, my voice muffled against his hand.

‘Shut up, or I’ll kill you,’ he hisses into my ear. His voice is deep.

I try to thrash and fight, but to no effect. Something rough is thrown over my head, plunging me into suffocating darkness. My heart pounds, sounding a frantic drumbeat in my ears. He wrenches my arms behind my back, and binds them with something harsh and unyielding.

My skin burns beneath the restraints as terror sears through me. The world narrows to the sound of my ragged breathing and his cold, brutal grip.

When he says he will kill me, I believe him.

Chapter Two

I check the time. Damn, I’m late. Jo will be annoyed, though she’ll pretend otherwise, like she always does. I text her to say I’m running late, then call the restaurant to ask them to hold our table. The manager is very accommodating. Considering I’ll be spending over four hundred quid at their overpriced establishment tonight, I should bloody hope so. It’s not like we’re dining at Pizza Hut.

I smile, remembering when Pizza Hut used to be our idea of a treat.

Then my mind drifts back to the first time I stepped into Mason’s.

It was the evening of my promotion. I was with Nic and high on adrenaline. Lockwood and Holland were one of the most prestigious accountants in London. We dealt with top-class clients from all over the world. Getting promoted from accounts manager to chief finance officer was a dream come true, and although I’d worked hard to achieve that recognition, it still came as a surprise.

Nic swung open the doors with a grin, mischief lighting up his eyes. The maître d’, immaculate in his black suit, greeted us with a refined nod. I’d passed Mason’s many times, noting its grand façade and gilded signage exuding exclusivity, but that was my first time inside.

Mason’s was elegance distilled. Everything about it whispered of wealth. Staff glided silently from table to table. The scent of expensive perfume hung in the air. The women sparkled with diamonds. It was a sanctuary for the rich; a world I had only glimpsed from the outside.

‘Mr Evans,’ the maître d’ said warmly, recognising Nic immediately. ‘Good to see you again. Please follow me.’

‘Thank you, Ramone,’ said Nic.

We were led through the plush dining room, our footsteps silenced by thick carpets. As we sat, Nic gave the maître d’ a showy nod.

‘Perfect, Ramone. We’ll start with a bottle of champagne.’

Nic relished moments like that. Revelled in them, in fact, like a child unwrapping a new toy.

As Ramone disappeared, I took in my surroundings. ‘This is going to wipe out my bank account,’ I murmured, only half joking.

Nic laughed. ‘It’s on me, you lucky bastard. It’s not every day you become CFO of a company like Lockwood and Holland. Soon, you’ll be a regular here.’

Floating somewhere between disbelief and pride, I raised my glass. I'd hoped for a promotion, but this? This was beyond anything I had imagined. The salary alone was enough to transform our lives. With that and Jo’s salary as a paediatric surgeon, we’d no longer have to scrimp or rely on her parents for help. We could even hire a nanny for Joel.

Mason’s shimmered like a symbol of everything we’d worked for. As we toasted, I silently thanked whatever twist of fate had landed me there.

‘You fucking lucky bastard,’ Nic said, grinning.

A regular, he waved across the room at familiar faces. Nic Evans, board member at Lance and Holland, bachelor, well-off, and seemingly always between girlfriends. He wasn’t exactly my kind of person, but he’d backed me for the job, and I was grateful.

‘You were the right guy,’ he’d said. ‘Why else do you think I vouched for you?’

The waiter brought us the menu. I nearly fell off my chair when I saw the prices.

‘Cheers and congratulations,’ Nic said, lifting his glass. We clinked flutes. The champagne sparkled. The food was extraordinary: rich, refined, unlike anything I’d ever tasted. ‘Good, huh?’ Nic said through a mouthful of veal. ‘Wait until you taste the dessert. Fucking heaven.’ He held up an empty bottle of champagne. ‘Can’t have this!’ he said, and flagged down the waiter to order another.

‘I shouldn’t,’ I said weakly, already a little light-headed.

‘Of course you should. Get a taxi home. Enjoy the moment.’

So I did.

I pulled into our apartment block later than I’d hoped to. I knew Jo would be irritated, but she’d hide it behind humour. That’s who she is: patient, generous and kind.

How else do I describe Jo? She’s beautiful, inside and out. We met at a friend’s wedding. She was there with someone else; a hospital consultant, I think. But from the moment I saw her, I was smitten. Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled. Her lips, with that delicate Cupid’s bow, practically demanded to be kissed. A cascade of blonde-highlighted curls framed her face. She was, and is, a paediatric surgeon. So far removed from my modest world. But love doesn’t follow rules.

I chased her relentlessly. Her parents weren’t impressed. I was an accountant. Hard-working, yes, but not their vision of a son-in-law. I could tell. Her father, especially, made it clear that I didn’t measure up.

Things changed when I landed a job at Lance and Holland. Suddenly, I was someone.

Before I gained the life-changing promotion, Jo and I had pooled our earnings and bought the apartment in Oxford. It was close enough for Jo to walk to the hospital, and it was our haven. I tried not to let the fact that her father had put down the deposit eat away at me, but it did. The smug way he handed over the cheque, as if I was a child who needed help. I’ll never forget it.

That’s why the promotion meant everything to me. I was a chief financial officer now. No one, not even Donald, my smug father-in-law, could take that away from me.

I remember coming home that night, after dinner with Nic, drunk on champagne and the thrill of success. I found Jo in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. She looked up, surprised.

‘You said it was a special dinner,’ she said. ‘How much have you had?’

‘About a bottle of champagne,’ I grinned. ‘Maybe more.’

She gasped.

‘Don’t worry. I got a taxi.’

I pulled the new contract from my jacket pocket and handed it to her. I watched her eyes move across the page, then widen.

‘Oh my God. Is that what they’re paying you?’

‘Yes. It’s all there, in black and white,’ I said.

She shrieked with joy. ‘Danny, does this mean we can buy the house?’

We’d talked a lot about the house, for months. It was an old fixer-upper in the Cotswolds. Acres of land. It needed everything done to it. But it had heart. Charm. A future. I pulled her into a hug. ‘I don’t think getting a second mortgage will be a problem.’

‘We could sell this place,’ she said.

‘We won’t need to. Besides, you’ll want it for when you’re on call. You hate those hospital beds.’

She kissed me. ‘Oh, Danny. My clever husband.’

I lifted her off her feet and spun her around, both of us laughing like teenagers. It was one of the best days. Then Neville Logan entered our lives and nothing was ever the same again.

Chapter Three

The words catch in my throat, my vocal cords paralysed by shock. Bradley Stern’s words, delivered in that cocky, couldn’t-give-a-damn tone, reverberate through my head.

‘It’s hurting me as much as it’s hurting you, Nev,’ he drawls, like we’re old mates.

I fucking bet it isn’t, I think bitterly. There’s no camaraderie here, only betrayal.

Bradley’s just yanked the rug out from under me, and now he’s got the audacity, the absolute nerve, to call me ‘Nev’, as if we’re pals. The cunning little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

I can’t hold back any longer. ‘We had an agreement, Bradley,’ I snap, my anger boiling over. ‘I gave you all the materials at cost. I cut you a good deal.’

The betrayal stings. How could I have been so blind to his real intentions? But this ends now. He’s not getting away with it. Not if I’ve got anything to say about it.

He shrugs, maddeningly casual. ‘The work is shoddy, Nev,’ he says, his eyes like flint. ‘I’ll have to pay to get it redone.’

The fury inside me flares. How can I not have seen this coming? People warned me about Bradley’s reputation, but I was desperate. He circled me like a vulture over an injured animal. Now his scarred cheek twitches as he meets my gaze, and I realise just how cleverly I’ve been played.

Bradley Stern isn’t a friend. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I am the lamb.

‘You’re a piece of scum,’ I shout, raising my arm to punch him. His two gorillas immediately step forward and grab me. ‘I should have listened to what people said about you.’

‘It was shoddy work, Nev,’ he says calmly.

‘I’ll take you to court,’ I growl.

‘Try it,’ he says. ‘If you can afford a solicitor, which I doubt. First rule of business, Nev, know your clients. Now, I’ve got a mess to sort out, so either walk out or get thrown out.’

‘Stop calling me Nev! I did a good job and you bloody well know it.’

‘Yeah. At the start. When I paid you half the money. Then it all went downhill, didn’t it?’

The houses I built were perfect, and he bloody well knows it. He’ll have tenants in them within weeks, collecting rent, while I’m left with nothing. After paying the builders, I’ll be lucky to have two grand left. Meanwhile, Carol’s on my back for overdue child support and is threatening to take me to court.

‘I can’t let you see them, Nev. Not if you don’t support us,’ she said.

Once Bradley had paid the final invoice, I planned to give her three months in advance plus the back pay. Now, all I can scrape together is the back pay, and God knows how I’ll afford the next payment.

‘Tell you what I’ll do,’ Bradley says heartily, tapping me on the shoulder. I shrug him off. Right now, I could kill the bastard. ‘You forget all that court nonsense, and I won’t tell anyone the work was shoddy.’

‘I didn’t do shoddy work,’ I yell.

‘That’s the deal, Nev. Now get the fuck out of my office before I change my mind.’

His goons take a step forward, but I don’t give them the satisfaction. I turn and walk out.

It’s a ten-minute walk to town, and I head straight to The Crown. A waitress walks past me with plates of fish and chips. My stomach rumbles.

‘Ploughman’s?’ George, the owner, asks.

‘Not today. Just a pint.’

‘I’ll bring it over.’

I sit down, and to my horror, my mind drifts to ways of ending it all. Pills? I wouldn’t know what to take. Hanging? I’d probably botch it. Maybe throw myself under a bus. Or I could use the car exhaust… I jump when George places the pint in front of me.

‘I was just telling those fellas,’ he says, nodding to a table of suited men, ‘what a great builder you are. Showed them the extension you did here. One of them’s looking for someone. Want me to introduce you?’

Fate, or what?

Here I am considering suicide, and it turns out that maybe someone is watching over me after all. ‘Sure,’ I say, grabbing my pint.

I follow George. The men look up. They’re wearing slick suits and have a confident air about them. They’re of the type who never have to worry about bills or bailiffs.

‘This is Neville Logan,’ George says, ‘the builder I told you about.’

One of them stands and offers his hand. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Daniel Neal. My wife and I are buying a house that needs renovating. We’ve had plans drawn up, but haven’t found the right builder yet.’

‘Where?’ I ask.

‘Sorry?’

‘Where’s the house?’

‘Just outside Wootton.’

I nod. ‘Nice area.’

He looks unsure. Maybe he expected me to be more eager.

‘We’ve met with a few builders, but didn’t click. Maybe you could come over this evening, see the plans?’

‘You’ll get a fucking good whisky while you’re there,’ the other man pipes up.

Neal looks uneasy again. The other guy waves George over like he’s a waiter. ‘Three more shots, my good man.’

Bloody rich wanker, I think. He seems buzzed, and I doubt it’s just the booze.

I turn back to Neal. ‘Give me your address. What time?’

‘My wife’s doing a day shift. She’s a surgeon at the Churchill Hospital.’

Oh, fantastic. Surgeon wife. Fat monthly income.

‘We’re free at eight.’

I’m doing bugger-all else, so I agree. ‘Okay,’ I say, downing the shot.

He scribbles the address. I recognise it: a fancy apartment block about a mile from my own grotty flat in Cowley. ‘See you later,’ I say, heading back to my table. ‘Actually, maybe I will have that ploughman’s,’ I tell George.

Later, fortified by good bread and cheese, I leave the pub and head to Carol’s. The gate creaks as I open it, and she pulls the door open before I knock.

‘The kids are having dinner at my parents’,’ she says.

‘That’s okay,’ I reply, masking my disappointment. I pull out my wallet and hand over the cash. She counts it, then looks up. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Stern screwed me over. He’s not paying the rest.’

She sighs. ‘For God’s sake, Nev, this isn’t enough, it’s not even all the back payment.’

‘I know. I need the rest for rent.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Please,’ I say, grabbing her arm gently. ‘I’ve got something lined up, a new job. It’s a big renovation. I’ll pay you everything. Just let me have the kids one Saturday.’

She bites her lip, thinking. ‘It’s getting hard without your help, Nev. If it weren’t for Mum and Dad…’

‘One Saturday?’ I plead.

She nods. A wave of relief hits me.

I’ve got a good feeling about this Neal job. Maybe, just maybe, things are finally looking up.

Chapter Four

I take the lift up to our apartment, unlock the door, and call out.

‘Hi, sorry I’m late. I called the restaurant and—’

Joel comes tearing out of the kitchen. ‘Daddy!’ he shouts, flinging himself into my arms.

‘Hey, dude.’

His bright-blue eyes sparkle as I scoop him up in a bear hug. To my surprise, Nicola, our nanny, appears behind him. I raise my eyebrows. Wasn’t she leaving early for a friend’s birthday party in London? We’d even booked a sitter so she could make her coach on time. Judging by her expression, she’s not happy.

‘Oh, you’re still here?’ I say, confused. ‘I thought you were heading to London.’

Nicola’s great. She fits in well with our chaotic schedules and, thank God, she has her own flat, so we don’t have to tiptoe around half-naked in the mornings with a nanny in the house.

‘Mrs Neal still isn’t home. I’ve tried getting in touch with her. I had to cancel my plans because I missed the coach. I did try calling you,’ she says, clearly annoyed.

‘You did?’ I check my phone. Sure enough, there is a missed call from Nicola. I was in a meeting and had my phone on silent. I glance up at her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her angry. ‘Shit,’ I mutter.

‘Daddy!’ Joel scolds me.

‘Sorry. Daddy shouldn’t swear,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry, Nicola. Jo was supposed to be home early. I’m sorry I didn’t see your call.’ The central intercom buzzes. ‘Maybe that’s her,’ I say hopefully, though I know Jo would use her key. I open the door to find the babysitter walking down the corridor, all smiles.

‘Hi,’ she chirps.

‘I phoned Mrs Neal’s mobile twice,’ Nicola says, pulling her bag off the hook. ‘Texted her, too. None of them have been read.’

‘I’m so sorry, Nicola. Of course, we’ll pay you extra.’

She looks at me, disappointment etched on her face. ‘It’s not about the money,’ she replies as she walks out.

Great. Now she’s properly offended. Meanwhile, the sitter stands in the doorway, waiting for instructions. ‘One sec,’ I say.

I check Jo’s location on Google Maps and see that she is offline. The message I sent earlier remains unread, and a strange tightness begins to build up in my chest.

I call the hospital. They confirm that Jo’s shift ended at four. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from the hospital to our apartment. I try her phone again, but it goes straight to voicemail.

I call Gil. Please don’t tell me Jo’s out for drinks.

‘Hello, Mr Romantic,’ she laughs. I hear chatter and the clinking of glasses in the background.

‘Is Jo with you?’ I ask, my tone coming out sharper than I mean it to.

‘No, we split up after our swim. Why?’

‘When was that?’

‘Just before five, I think. Why, Danny?’ Her tone has shifted: she senses something’s wrong.

‘We had dinner plans. She’s not home. The nanny’s pissed off. She was supposed to leave early. Did Jo say where she was going?’

The background noise fades and is replaced by the sound of traffic. Gil must have stepped outside.

‘She must have forgotten the dinner,’ I say.

‘She didn’t forget. She left me at the pool and said she was heading straight home. She was stopping to pick up Joel’s comic on the way.’

I glance at the clock. Seven. She should have been home hours ago.

‘That was two hours ago,’ Gil says, echoing my thoughts.

‘I’ll call her parents. Thanks, Gil.’

‘Keep me posted,’ she says, tension now thick in her voice.

‘No, she’s not here,’ says Jo’s father, Donald, when I call. ‘Probably just got caught up at work. You know what she’s like.’

‘Yeah. Thanks. I’ll try again.’

Joel tugs at my trousers. ‘Mummy?’

‘She’s on her way, sweetheart.’

I glance at the sitter, whose name I still don’t remember. ‘Would you mind?’ I ask, nodding toward Joel.

‘Sure,’ she replies, taking his hand.

‘Snack,’ Joel tells her, leading her to the fridge. I smile. He’s going to be a bolshie little sod when he grows up.

Jo’s phone still goes to voicemail. I leave another message, and then another. In total, I make three calls and send three WhatsApp messages, all of which are left unread. I cancel the reservation, pay the sitter and order a taxi for her.

Then my phone rings. No caller ID. I answer instantly. ‘Jo?’

‘It’s me, Gil. Is she still not home?’

‘No,’ I say, my voice flat.

‘I’ve been trying her phone too, but I just get her voicemail. Have you called the hospitals? In case she’s had an accident?’

My stomach drops. ‘No. I hadn’t thought…’

‘I’ll do it,’ Gil says, then hangs up.

I pace. Minutes crawl by.

She calls back. ‘No one matching her description has been admitted anywhere. Danny, I think you should call the police.’ There’s a tremor in her voice. ‘I’m coming over.’

Chapter Five

‘I don’t remember you saying you were out tonight,’ says Geoff, looking put out.

I sigh. ‘I told you the Chief Super was retiring about a month ago, and last week I told you about the retirement do,’ I remind him. But, of course, you weren’t bloody listening, as usual.

I stick two pizzas in the oven, open the fridge and remove a bowl of pre-made salad. ‘All yours,’ I say to Geoff. ‘You just have to feed the boys when the pizzas are done.’

‘Easy enough, I suppose,’ he says sulkily. ‘It’s just that it’s the final of the darts tonight at the pub and it’s not like we couldn’t have got a sitter…’

I roll my eyes. I should have counted to ten, but sadly I only got to four. ‘For Christ’s sake, Geoff, when do I ever go out? It’s not like you’re playing in the darts team. The only nights I’m ever out are when I’m bloody working.’

‘Bad timing, I guess,’ he says.

I decide to change the subject. ‘Don’t let them play on their iPads all evening.’

‘Got it,’ he says. But I know he will.

‘Right,’ I say, checking my reflection in the hall mirror. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing myself with make-up on. It’s not the done thing in my job to look like a sex bomb. Although I’m well past the sex bomb stage these days; I’m closer to the premenopausal, stretch-marks-and-grey-hair stage. I ought to get said hair coloured, but at a hundred quid a time, I can’t see Geoff agreeing to that.

I smile at my two lads, who are stuffing their faces with garlic bread. ‘Well, I’m not kissing you two goodbye.’ I blow a kiss and leave the house. My partner in crime, Dario, has offered to pick me up and is waiting outside.

Dario González has been sober for eight years, so he’s the perfect taxi driver. He is also the most handsome man I’ve ever worked with. His slightly dark skin and wide brown eyes are appealing, especially when he smiles; then, they twinkle like stars. His black curly hair, although unruly, adds to his appeal. The single female coppers will be trying hard to impress him tonight, but since his divorce and loss of custody of his kids because of his drinking, his interest in women has been minimal.

‘Ready for a rowdy night out, DS Blackford?’ he says, and smiles.

Roger, the Chief Super, has booked a private room at The Wiltshire pub. The truth is, I’m not good at social dos. I’m good at my job; that’s where I feel secure. But socialising isn’t my thing. Still, I have to go to the Super’s retirement do.

Dario, on the other hand, is confident, and he strides into the pub. We’re about to go downstairs to the Pablo room when someone calls my name.

I turn to see Gil Peterson sitting on a stool at the bar. I’ve known Gil since we were both involved in a case; that of an abused child. It was one of the worst experiences of my life as a police officer, and it tore us all apart for several months. Dr Joanna Neal, Gil and I, along with several other officers, attended the funeral. I remember Joanna Neal being inconsolable at the time.

‘Wow, look at you, Miss Glam,’ Gil says admiringly.

‘It’s not that fancy,’ I say, playing it down. ‘It’s a retirement do, so I thought I should make an effort.’

‘Ooh, room for a promotion?’ she asks. She’s all dolled up, a glass of red wine clasped in her hand.

‘You’re the glam one,’ I say.

‘Hot date, darling. If he turns up. Half of them don’t.’

‘Not another Tinder, I hope,’ I say.

‘Yep.’

‘Text me if he turns up and say where you’re going. If I don’t hear from you after an hour, I’ll phone.’

‘A bit dramatic, don’t you think? You’re worse than Jo.’

‘Not these days. Anyway, if he doesn't turn up, join us downstairs in the Pablo room.’

‘Thanks, I might do that.’ She nods towards Dario, who is waiting for me. ‘I don’t suppose he’s on Tinder?’

‘Not his scene. Hope the hot date turns up.’

The Pablo room is buzzing. Prosecco bottles are being popped open, and hors d'oeuvres are being placed on a long table.

‘Prosecco?’ asks Dario. I nod. Then I force myself to mingle, saying hi to my colleagues and introducing myself to new acquaintances. Those who know me ask where Geoff is. That soon becomes tiring, so when Gil walks in, I’m relieved.

‘Bugger didn’t turn up,’ she says. ‘Don’t know why I’m not surprised.’

We sit with bowls of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of Prosecco and get slightly tipsy. Gil flirts unashamedly with Dario and keeps trying to push Prosecco onto him.

‘I’m driving,’ he tells her. Then, ‘Can’t you tell her I’m gay?’ he whispers to me.

‘Well, that would be lying, wouldn’t it? I don’t think that will stop her, anyway,’ I say, and laugh.

The Prosecco is making me light-headed, and I grab some sausage rolls from the food table. When I return, I hear a ringtone.

‘Is that your phone?’ I ask.

Gil dives into her bag. ‘Perhaps it’s Mr Tinder,’ she says, then giggles. She seems to recognise the voice and laughs, saying, ‘Hello, Mr Romantic.’

‘Mr Tinder,’ I say, and smile at Dario.

‘No, we parted ways after our swim. Why?’ says Gil, her expression changing. ‘Just after five, I reckon. Why, Danny?’

She stands up and excuses herself. I immediately sense something is wrong, but I don’t like to ask what. She returns looking worried, and I ask her if everything is okay. She forces a smile and finishes the remains of her glass. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she says.

Some time later, she makes a call and says she has to go.

‘Be careful,’ I say. ‘Text me later.’

She says she will, but she never does.

Chapter Six

Joanna Neal captivates me from the start. Her beauty is evident, but it’s her radiant warmth and kindness that truly stand out. She welcomes me with open arms. She’s refreshingly humble and approachable, a stark contrast to the pretentiousness I anticipated. In my experience, wealth often comes with a certain aloofness, but Joanna is an exception, extending hospitality that many others have withheld.

‘Would you like some coffee, tea… or perhaps a glass of wine? We’ve just uncorked a new bottle,’ she offers generously.

I’ve met a lot of rich people in my time, and most of them never even offered me a cup of tea, let alone anything stronger. I can smell the remains of their Chinese dinner.

‘Or the promised whisky,’ Neal adds.

‘Thanks. A glass of wine would be great.’

The lounge window is so large that it reminds me of a shop front. It's triple-glazed and so clear that the panorama appears as if on a high-definition screen at the cinema. The view is fantastic. You can see the whole of Oxford from here. The birds hasten past, buffeted by the winds that whistle through the spires as if to remind us that we're in their space now. The city below is so far away that it's like another world.

Daniel Neal seems less affected now that he isn't with his besuited friend.

‘Nice apartment,’ I say, accepting a crystal glass of red wine from him. From somewhere in the flat, I hear a child cough.

‘Baby monitor,’ explains Joanna. ‘He's had a little infection, but he's fine now. Do you have kids?’

‘Two girls,’ I say. ‘I'm divorced, so I only see them once every two weeks.’

Her face darkens. ‘Oh, I'm sorry,’ she says, and I can tell she means it.

The flat is luxurious, but lived-in. Toys are scattered across the floor, but the decor has been professionally designed. The couches and chairs match perfectly with the long curtains at the window, not that you need curtains this high up. The lamps are designer, and the large rug covering the floor must have cost thousands.

Daniel enters the kitchen and returns with a plate of cheese and crackers. I think of Bradley Stern and want to laugh at the irony of it, for the only thing I got from him was abuse and perhaps one piece of good advice: ‘First rule of business, Nev, know your clients.’

‘So, what do you do?’ I ask Neal.

‘I'm the chief finance officer for Lance and Holland.’

‘Well, I won't need your services,’ I say without thinking. They both look at me oddly, so I feel the need to explain. ‘My last client swindled me out of a hundred thousand quid,’ I add. ‘My company built those new houses on the A434.’

‘But they are brilliant,’ says Joanna.

I smile. ‘Thanks. He called them shoddy and refused to pay the balance. I've since learned that I'm not the first person he’s done this to.’ I finish my wine, which I can tell is a good one, and stand up. ‘Well, thanks for seeing me, but I’m sure you could find a better builder who won’t have people saying he does shoddy work.’

I'm at the front door when Joanna says, ‘No, we want you. We don’t think your work is shoddy. We’ve heard great things about your work from people we know.’

‘I second that,’ says Daniel. ‘Let’s show you our plans and see what you think.’

I look at their plans with interest. They certainly know what they want. But I can’t help putting the obvious question to them. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why are you buying a house when you’ve got this fabulous apartment?’

Joanna looks slightly embarrassed, and I feel bad. I wasn’t judging them, I was just curious.

‘I’m a surgeon,’ she explains. ‘This place is useful for when I’m on call. The hospital is just around the corner. It’s much nicer being in your own bed, but we’ve always wanted a house in the country.’

I nod. ‘Well, leave these with me. I can’t see any problems. I’ll come back to you with a quote.’

Neal sees me out. ‘Thanks so much,’ he says.

These will be decent people to work for, I think gratefully.

Chapter Seven

‘You don’t think calling the police is a bit drastic?’ I ask. ‘It’s only been a few hours.’

Joel is happily watching a cartoon on the TV, and the noise is driving me crazy.

‘She left the gym to go home over three hours ago. You’re supposed to be in the restaurant now. And why isn’t she answering her phone?’ says Gil. ‘And why would she turn off Google tracking? It’s not like her.’

‘Isn’t that what people do when they’re having an affair?’ I say petulantly.

Gil looks shocked. ‘Danny, that’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it?’

Jo and I set up Google tracking years ago. It was just a simple, practical and reassuring thing. If one of us were to be running late, the other could check and stop worrying. We used it all the time. But now… Now she’d turned off tracking at her end, which had to be deliberate. But why?

‘Turning off your Google tracking; isn’t that what someone does when they don’t want you to know where they are?’ I say.

‘If she’s out of signal area, then she wouldn’t be able to get Google tracking, Danny. And, even if there were to be someone else, which I don’t believe for a minute, she would never abandon Joel. She was excited about your dinner tonight.’

‘Sorry, I’m not thinking straight,’ I say. ‘I don’t understand why she would turn it off; she’s never done that before. It’s as if she doesn’t want to be contactable, but that doesn’t make sense.’

‘Jo is the best communicator I know,’ she says, and then hesitates for a second.

‘What is it?’ I ask, sensing there is something she isn’t telling me.

‘It’s just creepy. After our swim, she talked about how anxious she was about something bad happening. It was some superstitious thing, she said, because you have the perfect life.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘The perfect life?’ I almost laugh. The perfect life? If only. Maybe Jo’s wealthy, polished, untouchable parents fit that fantasy. But us? Hardly.

‘I don’t know, Danny,’ Gil says quietly. ‘She was probably just being superstitious. Still, I think you should call the police.’

I shake my head. I wish she’d stop banging on about the police. ‘It’s too soon. She’ll turn up. There’s got to be a rational explanation.’

And then my phone vibrates on the table. We both freeze.

‘See?’ I say, grabbing it. ‘That’s probably her now.’

‘Oh, please, God,’ Gil whispers.

Jo’s name lights up the screen. Relief slams into me, hot and dizzying.

‘It’s her,’ I say, already answering. Gil drops onto the sofa, relieved.

‘Jo? Where the hell are you? We’ve been going out of our min—’

A man’s voice cuts me off. Cold. Calm. ‘Mr Neal? Or shall I call you Danny?’

The room tips sideways.

‘Who is this?’ I ask. ‘What are you doing with my wife’s phone?’

Gil gasps.

‘She doesn’t need it right now,’ the man replies casually. ‘And don’t bother calling it. It’ll be out of service soon. Now listen carefully, and don’t interrupt. I have your wife. She’s safe for now. She’ll be back home, all nice and cosy, in a few days, but I need something in return.’

I can’t speak. The room shrinks around me. My grip tightens on the phone.

‘Two million,’ he continues. ‘Half by the end of this week. The rest by next. Do that, and everything stays nice and tidy. But if you involve the police… That perfect little life of yours might not stay so perfect.’

Two million. The words spin, useless and unreal, in my mind. ‘You’re insane,’ I manage to croak. ‘I can’t get money like that at such short notice.’

The idea of two million pounds swirls around in my head, and suddenly, my brain feels waterlogged.

‘But her parents can,’ the man says smoothly. ‘It’s your wife. Your call. I’ll be in touch. And Danny – I’ll be watching.’

The line goes dead. I stare at the phone. I feel Gil’s eyes on me. My throat feels like it's closing up. I hurry to the kitchen and fill a glass with water.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Gil asks, following me. ‘Has she been kidnapped?’ Her voice trembles.

I’m numb with shock, so I simply nod.

Her eyes widen in alarm. ‘Oh my God. Who on earth would kidnap Jo?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you recognise their voice?’

‘No.’

‘How much do they want?’

‘Two million.’

‘Two million,’ she repeats incredulously.

The TV seems deafening, and I turn the volume down. Joel seems oblivious and carries on watching.

Gil lays a hand on my arm. ‘We need to call the police, Danny.’

‘No,’ I say sharply. ‘He said no police. I need to try to get the money. He’s been researching her. He knows her parents are rich.’

‘The police have specialists who deal with this kind of thing. They have tracking devices and the right equipment. They may be able to identify her most recent location. We could have her back in a few hours, Danny.’

My heart is hammering so hard that it’s difficult to think straight. I can’t make any mistakes.

‘It might not stop at two million. They may get greedy,’ she argues.

‘They?’ I say. ‘Why do you say they?’

‘You don’t know how many there are,’ says Gil, bursting into tears.

‘He says he’s watching me,’ I say. ‘If he finds out we’ve gone to the police…’

Gil grabs some kitchen towel to wipe her eyes. ‘Oh God, what do we do?’

I chew my lip, thinking of Julia and Donald. Surely her parents, with all their millions, will help?

‘No police, Gil. Promise me. I will talk to Julia and Donald. They will pay the ransom. Will you stay with Joel?’

Her expression tells me she isn’t happy with my decision, but she nods. ‘Can I have a cigarette first?’ she asks, pulling a packet from her bag with trembling hands.

‘Don’t phone the police, Gil.’

She frowns but nods her agreement. Thankfully, Joel is unaware of everything and remains absorbed in his programme.

‘Joel, Daddy has to go to see Gramps and Granny. Gil is going to stay with you.’

He turns his eyes towards me. ‘Mummy?’

‘At work. She’ll be home soon.’

I watch Gil on the veranda, smoking her cigarette. She dabs at her eyes frequently. When she returns, I grab my car keys.

‘Promise me you won’t phone the police, Gil. I don’t want anything to happen to Jo.’

‘I won’t,’ she assures me. ‘You’d better go.’