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hand, Aiden replaced the receiver, then searched the house again, calling Abigail as he went. He opened the back door and turned on the outside garden lights. Nothing moved. No sounds apart from an owl calling in Sixpenny Woods.
    “Abs! Are you out here?”
    No response.
    Aiden went back inside and wondered what to do. He sat at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.
    In the little guest cottage in the garden, Abigail crouched in the dark, listening. She’d heard Aiden open the back door. She’d moved away from the window when he flooded the garden with light. When he called her, she shuddered and shrank down. She’d prayed that Tiffany wouldn’t make a sound, and she hadn’t.
    The guest cottage was comfortable, with everything provided that a guest might need. It had a kitchen, a living room, bedroom and bathroom. It was brand new, rarely used. It was a perfect hide-out, but not for long. She couldn’t stay there, she’d soon be discovered.
    What to do? Ideally, she’d get to her car and drive away. The problem was that Aiden would hear her feet crunching across the gravel. She’d have to wait here in the guest cottage until the coast was clear, then get to her car. But she couldn’t do that unless Aiden went out or went to bed. And if she did manage to get to the car, then what? Where would she drive to?
    Daisy’s? No, Daisy was too sensible. She wouldn’t approve of what Abigail was doing. She’d make her go back to Aiden, and then there’d be fireworks. Aiden would say they couldn’t keep Tiffany, and Tiffany would be taken away. No, she couldn’t go to Daisy.
    Perhaps her sister in Yewbridge? Abigail considered that one. It was a possibility.
    Abigail’s thinking was muddled. Distress was eating away at her and she’d lost the ability to make rational decisions. She was mentally exhausted, and her mind was jumbled. Only one idea remained clear in her head: every moment she had with Tiffany was precious. She needed to watch and wait until the lights went off and the coast was clear. She began humming softly.
    Inside the main house, Aiden was still in the kitchen, fretting. Should he follow Daisy’s advice and phone the police? Or wait? Perhaps Abigail would walk through that door any moment.
    But he knew she wouldn’t. In spite of the lateness of the hour, he reached for the phone.

Chapter Eleven
     
    Flying was not an activity Martha Guttman particularly enjoyed, although Business Class seats did make the experience somewhat less gruelling. Sitting still for long periods of time was not something she found easy.
    None of the movies offered interested her and she’d already had a manicure and hand massage. Now she was thirsty. Irritably, she pressed the button to summon the hostess.
    In the galley, the two air hostesses on duty exchanged glances when Martha’s seat number buzzed and lit up.
    “Your turn,” said one. “I waited on her ladyship last time.”
    The other nodded, smoothed her hair and made her way down the aisle to Martha’s seat. She drew the curtain aside a fraction and popped her head round, smiling.
    “You rang?”
    “Tea. Earl Grey. In a proper china cup and saucer.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    If the curtain hadn’t swung back, Martha would have seen the hostess make a face and roll her eyes.
    Martha stretched her feet, hoping the flight wasn’t going to make her ankles swell. Earlier she had raised her leg and stretched her toes and noticed the man across the aisle gawking at her. That’s why she’d drawn the curtain.
    Men! Gee, they were so stupid. And so easy to control. She’d been shipped over from the New York office specifically to work on this contract with Aiden. And Aiden was cute, but stupid. A perfect short-term distraction.
    Reeling in Aiden like a fish had been child’s play. All she had to do was smile at him, and laugh at his stupid jokes. Of course the short skirts had helped, and the way she sat just a little too close when they worked on papers