17
Jane woke, slightly hungover and very confused, scrambling with her hands to escape a prison of pure cotton sheets and fluffy pillows.
She sat upright and blinked. For a second she had no idea where she was. The room was dark, though a c***k of light peeping around the edge of the heavy curtains told her it was daylight. The air-conditioner hummed.
She’d been dreaming of the Norman church in the village where her parents lived, walking down the aisle in an ivory dress with a lace bodice. George was waiting for her, his back to her, but when he’d turned it was Alex’s face she saw. She shivered.
The bed was empty, just an indentation in the mattress beside her and the smell of his aftershave on the pillow. And on her.
She put a hand over her eyes. ‘Oh, God,’ she said aloud.
Right at
