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landing. I grit my teeth and decide to bring out the big guns.
    ‘But it’s in the contract. We put in a clause saying that he would be required to include –’ I frantically try to remember the exact phrase – ‘significant content about his childhood, the drugs and the divorce. And theyear he disappeared.’
    To my horror, Sam laughs. ‘You’re kidding, right? There is no way we would ever agree to something like that.’
    ‘But you did,’ I say, uncertainly. Though at the same time, I’m having a nightmarish feeling of doubt.
    ‘Seriously,’ he says, glancing at me. ‘There’s no such clause.’
    Oh, God. Is it possible he’s right? We did add that clause at a late stage. That is, Oliviaasked me to add it to the form we fill in when we create a new contract. And I added it. Didn’t I?
    Or did I?
    My mouth is dry, and I’m swallowing repeatedly and having to catch my breath. Instinctively my fingers reach forthe door handle and for a mad moment I contemplate opening the car door, jumping out and running straight back to the airport to get the next plane back, so I can check thatbloody contract. But that’s not possible, so I try to keep calm. I’ll ring Poppy. She’ll know what to do. At least, she’ll be able to tell me one way or the other if I really have left it out. I just can’t think about it now: what with the late night, and no luggage, and Sam, I’m flattened.
    For the rest of the drive, there’s no more chat. He’s clearly not going to bother making any more effortat conversation, so neither am I. Before too long we’re rattling downhill, along a rough track with no lights that leads to a bay. A bank of cypresses is shielding something white: the villa. We arrive at high walls and electric gates. Sam leans out and zaps something, and we drive in. As he parks alongside two other cars – one a sleek-looking vintage number – I see a name written up on a pillar:Al Plemmirio.
    We walk around the side of the villa, to a terrace overlooking the bay, with a pool that reflects thousands of stars. I can hear the sea, and crickets. There’s a table here under a canopy, with several bottles on it – I spot champagne and red wine – and some chairs; it looks like it’s been recently abandoned.
    ‘I guess you can meet them tomorrow,’ says Sam.
    Inside, I’m so tiredthat all I can take in is the delicious cool, the stone floor, and a vague impression of spacious rooms. Sam shows me to a bedroom at the end of a passage, and he strides away. Finally I’ve got rid of him. The first thing I do, once I’m on my own, is pull out my phone and call Poppy. There’s no answer, but I leave her a message asking her to call me back as soon as possible. Then I text my parentsto let them know I’ve landed safely – though that’s debatable.

FIVE
    I’m woken by an unfamiliar feeling: warm sunlight on my face.
    Squinting, I can see the sun is coming through some shutters, which are painted pale blue. The room is small but with a high ceiling. The walls look old and whitewashed, and there are dark stone tiles on the floor. There’s no furniture aside from a massive chest of drawers with an old-fashioned mirror on top. So here I am: inSicily, in Luther’s villa, with no clothes. I think I can hear the sea outside. I check my phone: 9.05 a.m., local time.
    There’s an en suite bathroom, and I’m thrilled to see it’s equipped with towels and some posh toiletries including, thank goodness, a toothbrush. I had a mini deodorant in my bag so at least I have the basics. After my shower, I pull on the clothes I wore on the plane – creamlinen trousers and a navy T-shirt – and brush my hair. It could do with a wash, but I don’t see a hairdryer and I don’t want to have to waltz around on my first morning with dripping-wet hair.
    I put on a discreet coat of mascara, and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if there’s anything else I can do to improve my appearance. I can’t believe I have to