Page 116 of Perfect Strangers

There was a cough, and they looked up to see the pilot at the door.

‘Sorry to interrupt, but the immigration team are here.’

Their immigration ordeal took just a few minutes; a few questions and some fingerprinting and they were through.

‘Is that it?’ breathed Sophie.

‘I told you,’ said Lana. ‘You have no convictions, you’ve committed no crime on American soil and the British police are hardly going to bother their American cousins about a missing witness who for all they know is probably still somewhere in Chelsea.’

Sophie let out a long breath.

‘So where next? A diner for burgers and shakes?’

‘Not quite,’ said Lana officiously. ‘I have a car waiting which will take you to Pleasantville. The driver knows Miriam’s address.’

‘You’re not coming with us?’ said Josh, surprised.

‘No, I’m going to the city,’ said Lana, handing Sophie a card. ‘This is my address in New York. Find out what you can and I’ll meet you there. We’ll have dinner this evening.’

‘So what’s to stop us finding the money and running off with it?’ said Sophie, only half joking.

Lana didn’t smile. When she spoke, her tone was light but her dark eyes were deadly serious.

‘I found you once, Sophie,’ she said. ‘I can find you again.’

Sophie sat in the back seat of the town car and craned her neck to watch the buildings of the airport terminal disappear behind them. She could barely believe it. They were in America.

‘Do you trust her?’ she said, turning to Josh.

‘Sophie, she tricked you into her house, set you up with Nick, lied about who she was. No – I don’t trust her an inch.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Sophie, still feeling duped and angry and humiliated.

He paused, looking towards the driver. The sliding glass panel between him and the passenger area was closed, but Sophie could tell Josh didn’t trust that either.

‘But what choice do we have?’ he said finally. ‘She’s given us use of a private jet

, a car, all the resources we need to find out who killed Nick and to set the record straight. The brutal truth is we can’t fix this on our own, Soph. Much as I’d like us to.’

‘I always got the feeling you could do anything,’ she said softly. She looked down at his hand on the seat beside her, and was suddenly desperate to reach out and touch it, desperate to tell him how she felt when she was with him: safe, stronger, complete. But instead she turned away, watching the New Jersey streets as they turned on to the freeway, feeling deathly tired.

She’d had a short nap on the plane, but when was the last time she had slept properly? she asked herself, wondering if she would ever sleep like that again. Careless, innocent, untroubled. Was her innocence really gone for ever? Her eyelids were heavy, but when they closed, all she could see was Josh. She had wondered whether the swell of feeling she’d had for him at the Villa Polieux had just been the balmy summer air and the fact that he’d looked so handsome in a suit. But she was self-aware enough to know that her feelings for him were getting stronger rather than fading. On the one hand, it made her feel fickle and ridiculous. Only a week ago she had been strolling along the Thames with Nick Beddingfield, although she knew now that all those emotions had been based on a lie. Her relationship with Josh was something else. They had shared so much together, been through so much. During those long nights in the garage, in the tiny sleeper carriage of the train, even at the motel, he had made no move on her, hadn’t tried to touch her. But still, she was sure he had felt that electricity between them at the villa. She was sure of it. Finally Sophie dozed, vaguely aware of the sway of the car, the feel of Josh’s leg against hers, nothing else.

Not long after – or had it been hours? She really couldn’t tell – Josh nudged her awake.

‘Almost there, sleepy,’ he said gently. She rubbed her eyes and looked out at the changed landscape of Westchester County: the single-storey clapboard houses with well-tended and shady lawns surrounded by that great American staple, the picket fence, the golden sunshine slanting through oaks and pines. Miriam Asner’s house was on the outskirts of town, its mower-striped grass edged by a silver pond.

‘Not bad,’ said Sophie sarcastically, as they stepped out of the town car and stretched. It wasn’t quite the Fifth Avenue luxury of Miriam’s old life, but it was close. Looking at the widow’s lovely property, you’d say that crime definitely did pay.

‘I googled her,’ said Josh, holding up his mobile. ‘As part of an agreement with the US prosecutors, Miriam Asner was allowed to keep a million dollars.’

‘She must be devastated.’

Josh smiled. ‘It’s all relative, I suppose. If you’re used to the Royal Suite at the Waldorf, this is probably torture.’

Sophie looked towards the shuttered windows with their neat curtains.

‘Well I hope she’s in. It’s a long way to come if she’s spending the summer in the Bahamas.’