In addition to everything else, I’m convinced the lighting has been changed. When we moved in Mark said the house automatically added extra light to counter winter depression. If so, can it do the reverse? Not only am I not sleeping properly, I’m waking with dry, itchy eyes, exhausted.

Simon phones and repeats his offer to come around. It would be so easy to say yes. I tell him I’ll think about it. I can hear the elation in his voice, though he tries to hide it. Nice, safe, reliable Simon. My harbor in a storm.

And then Edward Monkford texts me back.

NOW: JANE

“It’s exceptional,” the jeweler says, rolling the pearl between finger and thumb as he examines it through an eyepiece. “If it’s what I think it is, it’s very rare indeed.”

I produce the necklace in its clam case. “Could it have come from this?”

He takes the case and nods approvingly at the Japanese characters. “Kokichi Mikimoto. You don’t see these very often.” Lifting out the necklace, he holds it up to the light, comparing it with the loose one. “Yes, it’s a definite match. As I thought, they’re keshi pearls.”

“?‘Keshi pearls’? What does that mean?”

“Saltwater keshi are the rarest pearls of all, particularly when they’re almost round, like these. They come from oysters that had more than one pearl—twins, in other words. Because they have no nucleus they acquire this unusual, glowing luster. And as I said, extremely rare. At some point, I imagine, the necklace snapped and the pearls came off. The owner had it restrung, but he or she missed one.”

“I see.” At least, I understand what the man’s saying. But the implication—that Edward gave me a necklace he’d previously given to someone else—is going to take rather more digesting.

As I leave the shop, I reach for my cellphone.

“Simon,” I say when he answers. “Do you happen to know if Edward Monkford gave Emma a necklace? And if so, whether it ever got broken?”

THEN: EMMA

I need to see you. Edward.

I consider my reply before answering. Are you still angry with me, Daddy?

The response is swift. No more than you deserve.

Good. Does this mean you want me back?

We’ll see after tonight.

Then I’d better be on my best behavior. Already I’m weak at the knees.

7 p.m. Wear the pearls. Not much else.

Of course.

Two hours to get ready, to anticipate, to endure. I take my clothes off and get to work.

NOW: JANE

“But don’t you see?” Simon says urgently. “This proves he was there when Emma died.”

We’re sitting in the coffee shop, close to Still Hope, where Edward Monkford first made a pass at me. Two people coming together with no agenda other than the present. What a monstrous lie that turned out to be. No doubt he meant it at the time—thinking he could recapture just the parts of the relationship with Emma he liked, without the bits he didn’t. But, as Carol pointed out, you can’t tell the same story twice and expect a different ending.

Simon’s still speaking. “Sorry,” I say. “What was that?”

“I said, she only wore that necklace for him—she knew I hated it. She was supposed to be seeing me that day. We’d half made an arrangement. But then she canceled. She said she wasn’t feeling well. Even at the time I wondered if she was actually seeing Monkford.”

I frown. “You really can’t read all that into a single pearl. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Think about it,” he insists patiently. “How did Monkford get the necklace to give it to you? He must have been there when it got broken. But he knew if he left pearls scattered all over the floor, it would look like a struggle, not suicide or an accident. So he cleared them up before he left—all except the one you found.”

“But she didn’t die in the bathroom,” I object. “She was found at the bottom of the stairs.”

“It’s only a few steps from the bathroom to the stairs. He could easily have dragged her there, then pushed her down.”

I don’t believe Simon’s overwrought suggestion for one minute, but even I have to admit that the pearl might be considered evidence. “All right. I’ll get hold of James Clarke—I know he comes into town on Wednesdays. You might as well come along too. Then you can hear him dismiss your theories yourself.”

“Jane…would you like me to come and stay at One Folgate Street for a few days?” I must look surprised, because he adds, “I offered to stay with Emma. She didn’t want me to and I didn’t like to push it. I’ll always regret not having been more insistent. If I’d only been there…” He leaves the sentence hanging.

“Thank you, Simon. But we still can’t even be sure Emma was murdered.”

“Every tiny piece of evidence points to the fact that Monkford killed her. You’re refusing to admit it for reasons of your own. And I think we both know what they are.” His gaze goes down to my bump. I flush.

“You have emotional reasons for wanting him to be guilty,” I counter. “And for the record, Edward and I had a brief relationship, that’s all. We’re no longer together.”