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She opened the text message properly and stared at it. All she saw was her name and the word “DANGER” in big capital letters.

She wanted to run and hide. But where? The wardrobe? Under the bed? In the hotel kitchens? Back to her house where her father had been murdered?

Her second impulse was to call the police. She searched the hotel room desk for Detective Branston’s card, the one he gave her when he’d interviewed her about her father. He’d said that if she thought of anything else, anything she might have noticed, that she should get in touch. But though she looked in the desk, her handbag, and all the pockets of her clothes, she couldn’t find his card.

Then her phone buzzed again.

ARE YOU ALONE?

She could call 911. She could google Detective Branston’s number.

But after all, she had possibly just evaded a pursuer in a chase through the streets of London. Maybe it was time she started trying to protect herself.

She texted back.

Who are you?

The person was typing. She held her breath.

I’M SOMEONE WHO WANTS TO HELP YOU.

Then why are you trying to frighten me?

YOU’RE IN DANGER, AND YOU NEED TO KNOW. ARE YOU ALONE?

She looked around, suddenly worried that the man in the baseball cap had somehow appeared in her hotel room. She checked the ensuite and looked out the peephole in the door.

I’m someplace safe.

THAT’S NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU, LILAH.

The reply was quick and unexpectedly testy, in a way that reminded her of someone.

Is this Alice?

I DON’T KNOW WHO ALICE IS. I JUST WANT TO KNOW IF YOU’RE BY YOURSELF. I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO READ MY MESSAGES. AND YOU SHOULD DELETE THEM AS SOON AS YOU GET THEM.

She snorted. As if she were going to do that. She’d need the messages as evidence.

IT’S SAFER IF YOU DON’T TELL ANYONE THAT WE’VE BEEN IN TOUCH.

Who are you? she texted again.

I CAN’T TELL YOU UNTIL YOU PROMISE ME THAT YOU’RE NOT SHOWING THESE MESSAGES TO ANYONE ELSE.

This is going round in circles! Okay, okay, I’m alone in my room. And I won’t show these messages to anyone unless you turn out to be a weirdo who’s trying to hurt me, in which case, I’m taking my phone straight to the police.

IT’S NOT THE POLICE I’M WORRIED ABOUT.

Lilah curled up in an armchair. If it weren’t so strange, she would find it sort of nice to have someone to have a text conversation with.

How did you get my number?

YOU’RE RIDICULOUSLY EASY TO FIND.

She felt oddly insulted by this. Well I’m not exactly an international woman of mystery.

NO. YOU’RE AN INCREDIBLY RICH LIbrARIAN.

And you still haven’t told me who you are. It’s becoming rude.

There was a pause, and then the three dots appeared.

YOU’VE GOT A FEISTY STREAK. THAT’S GOING TO HELP A LOT.

Help with what?

IT’S NOT SAFE TO TELL YOU OVER THE PHONE. WE NEED TO MEET.

“No way,” said Lilah out loud, then she typed, I’m not meeting someone if I don’t even know their name. You say you want to keep me safe, but I’ve not seen any evidence of it.

MY NAME IS OPAL. I’LL BE AT THE MCDONALD’S ON PRAED STREET TOMORROW MORNING AT 9:30. COME ALONE.

If I go, how will I recognize you?

DON’T WORRY. I’LL RECOGNIZE YOU.

* * *

Zachary didn’t join her for dinner that night—he had an important meeting with a Malaysian client, which he had to do on Kuala Lumpur time—so she didn’t have the chance to talk with him about everything that had happened. When she’d rung him earlier to say she was safe at the Dorchester, he’d seemed satisfied.

She was in bed but lying awake when he returned to the suite. He obviously thought she was asleep because he got ready for bed quietly and without turning the lights on, so she carried on pretending she was asleep when he climbed in beside her. It was just as well. He would most definitely object to the idea of her meeting some random stranger named Opal in a McDonald’s near Paddington.

And Opal had sworn her to secrecy anyway, though Lilah wasn’t sure of her moral obligations to keep a promise to someone who was sending her mysterious text messages.

It was all very tangled, and she wasn’t sure if she quite understood what was going on, but one thing she did understand was that Zachary would be very upset with her if she went, and she didn’t want to make him upset.

He fell asleep quickly, his breathing becoming regular and even. She turned over in bed.

Of course, the obvious answer was not to go. It was ridiculous and foolish and reckless. Opal could be anyone. She might not be named Opal. She might be a whole gang of beefy men in blue baseball caps. She might have engineered this all of this to find out where Lilah was staying so she could try to hurt her. Or she could be trying to get Lilah’s money. She could be connected to the person who murdered Lilah’s father.

The sensible thing would be to go to the police station and show them the text messages.

Well, except she had deleted them, because Opal had asked her to, but surely the police could recover them.

Once again, Lilah wished she’d read more crime novels, particularly police procedurals.

So, lying on her left side, staring at Zachary’s back in the dark, she made up her mind not to go. He wouldn’t want her to go.

But then...she turned onto her right side, away from him.

The thing was, her father might have wanted her to go. He was always saying that she was young and clever, she should get out there and experience the world and have adventures. And she’d always replied that she didn’t want adventures and she preferred to read about them. But this situation was exactly like something out of a novel. The mysterious stranger in the cap, the pursuit through the streets of Mayfair. The text messages that claimed to be from a concerned stranger, the clandestine meeting in a fast-food restaurant.

And those novels might be cautionary tales, tales that started and ended with dead women, but they were exciting.

All of this was much more exciting than winning sixty-seven million pounds.

Anyway, what did it matter what Zachary thought or what Dad would have said? Ever since her father had been killed, she’d been doing exactly what men had been telling her to do. First, it was Detective Branston giving her orders. Then Zachary was just trying to protect her, but if he had his choice, she’d be holed up in this hotel forever. She had to make decisions for herself.

Maybe she could learn something that would help solve her father’s murder. And how dangerous could a McDonald’s be?

So the next day, Thursday, after Zachary had gone off to work, she found an old metro card that still had money on it. Then she put on sunglasses and a hat and wound a scarf around her neck, and headed for Praed Street.

McDonald’s was relatively busy. She scanned the tables, looking for a woman sitting on her own. Or alternatively, a bunch of armed thugs. Or a masked man with a large knife dripping blood.

It was all groups of youths eating breakfast sandwiches and tiredlooking businessmen scrolling through their phones.

Unsure of what to do, she joined the line and ordered a cup of tea. At the very least she could use that as a weapon of some sort, if it went wrong. Pepper spray was illegal, but tea was definitely not. While she was paying her phone pinged.

IN THE BACK NEAR THE EMERGENCY EXITS.

Clutching her cup, Lilah threaded through the families. It was less crowded at the back. And sitting alone at a table was a woman.

“Opal?” Lilah said, approaching.

“That’s me,” said the woman. She stood up and held out her hand for Lilah to shake, as if this were a business meeting.

“Nice to meet you,” said Lilah, for lack of any knowledge of the correct thing to say in this situation.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” said Opal.

Opal was visibly older, in her forties maybe, though she was very well-groomed and moisturized. She had short hair, red lips, and beautifully white teeth. She was also, Lilah noticed as she sat across from her, very fit. She wore an orange sleeveless top, and her arms were smooth and muscular. She had a cup of black coffee, but it didn’t look as if she’d drunk any of it.

“Wow,” said Opal. “You look even younger in person.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Exactly.”

“Why am I here?” Lilah asked. “Is this about my father?”

“I’m sorry about your father,” said Opal. “That was a terrible thing that never should have happened.”

Suddenly this was very serious.

“Do you know who killed him?” Lilah took off her sunglasses and scarf.

“No,” said Opal. “I don’t. This is about something else.”

“Do you want money?”

“This isn’t about that, either.”

“Who are you?”

“It’s easier if I show you.”

She pushed a black iPhone with a bright pink case across the table and tapped open an Instagram account. @Hot_Fit_Mess was full of pictures of Opal in very tight workout gear. Here, she was sparring with a punching bag. Here, she was doing yoga on a beach. Here, she was in a video explaining a sixty-day abs challenge. In every image, she was wearing red lipstick. The captions were all in capital letters and said things like FLEXIBILITY IS OUR GREATEST ASSET and GLOW GLOW GLOW!

“You’re an exercise instructor?” asked Lilah.

“I’m a wellness influencer.” Opal pointed to her follower count, well into the several hundreds of thousands.

“Oh. Wow. Good for you.”

“My personal brand is feeling great post-menopause. Middle-aged women get a raw deal when it comes to the medical and fitness establishments. It’s all lithe young women or gym bros, and what works for them won’t work for a woman over fifty.”

She was over fifty? “Well, you look great.”

“I work hard at it, and I work smart.”

“What does this have to do with why you wanted to meet?”

“Nothing,” said Opal. “I just wanted to show you my business so you know that I am who I say I am.”

So it wasn’t Lilah’s dad, and it wasn’t her money. “Is this something to do with the library?”

“No. It’s about your boyfriend.”

“Zachary?” she said in disbelief.

“If that’s what he calls himself,” said Opal. “It’s not his real name.”

“What?”

“How did you meet him? Was it in the library? Did he borrow a book and strike up a conversation?”

“This is none of your business.”

“Oh, it very much is. Did you meet him before or after you won all the money?”

“This is really none of your business.”

“Humor me. It’s important.”

She thought. “Well...after. But he’s not—”

Opal pointed at the ring on Lilah’s left hand. “Are you engaged to him?”

“Yes.”

“Whose money did he use for the ring?”

“What? I don’t know. His.”

“Do you know that for certain?”

Lilah sat up straighter. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I don’t like it either. But it’s the truth. What did he tell you he did for a living?”

“He works in cyber security, specializing in online fraud. He has a PhD.”

Opal tilted her head back and laughed silently to the ceiling. “Oh, that’s rich.”

“Why?”

She leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. “Have you had any problems with money lately? Credit cards suddenly at their limit? Bank balances looking smaller than they should be?”

The bookshop, yesterday. She’d been too distracted to investigate or call her bank, and Zachary had said something about a demagnetized card. “I don’t have money problems.”

“Do you have a banking app on your phone? Do me a favor, have a look.”

“Are you saying that Zachary, my fiancé, is stealing from me?”

“Just have a look.”

Lilah opened the app for the current account attached to her debit card. There was ￡1.56 in it.

“This must be some mistake,” she said.

Opal shook her head. “It’s very deliberate, I can assure you. Does he have access to all of your accounts?”

“He’s got my credit card,” said Lilah in a daze. “But that’s because he’s sorting out security for my house.”

She checked the balance outstanding on the credit card. It was maxed out.

“What about your savings accounts? Your investments?”

“He asked me for the details so he could check my security, but I haven’t got around to giving them to him yet.”

“Are they something he could guess? Or find in your house?”

Lilah shook her head numbly. “I don’t know. It was all set up by my father.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

“This is your life,” Opal said. “Try not to get too emotional.”

“I’m don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Have you signed a prenuptial agreement? Have you altered your will? Given him power of attorney?”

“No.”

“Well. You might have had a very lucky escape.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Zachary is a thief?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Lilah gaped.

“Why should I believe you? I’ve never met you before in my life.”

“You don’t have to believe me. Believe your bank accounts, darling.”

She stood up. “How dare you!” she said, for the first time in her life. “You contact me out of the blue and start making all these accusations.”

“Who else would have access to your accounts and steal all that money?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, if he did take it, it’s not stealing—I’m sure he’s going to pay it back.”

“Did he tell you he was taking it?”

She crossed her arms. “I trust him. I love him.”

“Then you are very, very stupid.”

Opal’s voice dripped with pity, which put Lilah’s back up even more.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Why do you even care? This is none of your business.”

“It is very much my business.”

“Why? Do you even know Zachary?”

“Have you ever met his parents?” Opal asked. “Any member of his family? His friends?”

“He’s an orphan. That’s why he loved my dad so much.”

“Does he have any friends?”

Well, she didn’t have any friends. Lilah shrugged.

“Have you ever been to his house?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why did he say you couldn’t visit him at his home?”

He’d said his house was an absolute mess of computer equipment. When she’d assured him that she didn’t mind, he’d told her...

“He had an ant infestation.”

Opal snorted.

“I don’t have to put up with this,” Lilah huffed. She turned, leaving her tea and sunglasses on the table. Opal grabbed her wrist. The other woman’s grip was, unsurprisingly, strong.

“Why do you care?” Lilah asked again, wildly. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

“I can’t,” said Opal. “The man that you know as Zachary, I know as Zander.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I’m his wife.”