Page 70 of The House Swap

He’d definitely had something in his hand too, and it couldn’t have been innocent, otherwise he wouldn’t have hidden it behind his back.

And she could still feel the shape of that little room under the house. Its closeness and low ceiling. The sensation of Sue standing behind her, pushing her forward, then eager to tell her about Ian’s little playroom.

Had she interpreted it wrongly? Perhaps let her mind leap too far too fast?

She had been double-guessing herself a lot over the last few days, so she should at least consider the possibility. But still, there had been a vibe with Sue and Ian tonight that had felt wrong.

Keeping an eye on the road for any sign of movement, she pulled her boots on with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling. Sliding the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she surveyed the coast road, aware that right now she was exposed.

If she was right about Sue and Ian, then she needed to get somewhere she could hide in case they did come looking for her.

It was about a forty-minute walk back to Tom’s villa and out here alone it was creepy as hell. Plus her feet were hurting. If she could get a signal on her phone, she could try calling for a cab.

Spotting a couple of buildings up ahead, she hurried along the road.

Tavernas, she realised, though they were boarded up and closed for the winter.

Nevertheless, they offered shelter, and that was what she needed right now.

Slipping into the shadows between the two buildings, she reached into her bag for her phone.

The screen lit up, one bar of signal flickering uncertainly in the corner. It disappeared, then returned.

Thank God.

Opening her browser, she googled local taxi firms. The page loaded slowly, juddering in fragments as the signal weakened again.

Come on.

She moved slightly forward, relieved to get a second bar.

The search results appeared and she tried the top number, pressing call, and hoping like hell that whoever answered would know a little English.

There was a beat of silence, then the call failed.

She tried again. This time, it rang once but then dropped.

It was the patchy signal, she realised, staring at the screen.

Shit.

She really didn’t want to have to walk back.

Briefly, she debated what to do.

The exertion of running from the villa, plus her adrenaline spike, had kept her warm until now, but as she worked herself down, she was aware of the nip of sea breeze chilling her skin. She rubbed at her bare arms, realising for the first time she had left her blazer behind. No wonder she was cold.

What about Jem? She could contact him.

The signal was too patchy to call, but she could message him. Hopefully, it would go through.

She opened WhatsApp, but hesitated.

What should she say?

That Sue and Ian had tried to lure her into their cellar, and she’d run out of their villa like she was some frightened victim in a horror movie? That she thought Ian might have been holding a knife, even though she had never seen one? That she suspected the Pritchards were Essex’s answer to Fred and Rose West?

Humiliation burned through her. He was going to think that she was winding him up. Or worse, he might pick up on her hysteria and decide she was exactly what she feared becoming: unstable, dramatic and too much to handle.