Lana was clutching at straws here, and she knew it.

  And so did Leo. He gave her a cold look of contempt. “What are you talking about? You’re such a hypocrite. You’re an actor. And Dad was in the business, too.”

  “Leo, your father was a producer. A businessman. If you said you wanted to move to LA and work in production, that would be entirely different—”

  “Oh, really? You’d be over the moon?”

  “I wouldn’t be over the moon, but I’d be happier.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this—” Leo rolled his eyes. He was breathing heavily. He was getting angry now, Lana knew. She didn’t want this to get out of hand. She lowered her voice and tried to placate him.

  “Darling, listen. What happened to me just doesn’t happen. I was incredibly lucky. Do you know how many unemployed actors there are in LA? Your odds are one in a million. One in ten million.”

  “Oh, I get it. I’m not talented enough? That’s what you think?”

  Lana nearly lost her patience. “Leo, I have absolutely no idea if you are talented or not. Until this very moment, you have expressed no interest in acting. You’ve never even been in a play—”

  “A play?” Leo blinked, mystified. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  Lana nearly laughed. “Well, quite a lot, I should imagine—”

  “I’m not interested in plays! Who said anything about plays? I want to be a movie star—like you.”

  Oh my God, Lana thought. This is a disaster.

  Realizing the situation was far more serious than she had initially thought, Lana sought my advice. She called me as soon as she was alone. I remember how tense and anxious she sounded on the phone.

  Looking back, I could probably have been more sympathetic. I could see why Lana was disappointed—as Barbara West used to put it, “An actress is a little bit more than a woman. An actor, a little bit less than a man.”

  I figured, wisely, Lana wouldn’t find that quip funny at the moment.

  “Well, Leo’s found his calling,” I said. “That’s good. You should be pleased.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  “I’m not. Isn’t that just what the world needs—another actor?”

  “Movie star,” Lana corrected, miserably.

  “Sorry—movie star.” I chuckled. “Lana, my love—if Leo wants to be a movie star, let him. He’ll be fine.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “He’s your son, isn’t he?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  I searched for the right analogy. “Well, you don’t buy a horse without looking the mare in the mouth, do you?”

  “Meaning what? Is that a joke?” Lana sounded annoyed. “I don’t get it.”

  “Meaning every agent in London and LA will be falling over themselves to have him, once they know whose son he is. Anyway,” I went on, before she could object, “he’s seventeen. He’ll change his mind in approximately twenty-five minutes.”

  “No. Not Leo. He’s not like that.”

  “Well, he won’t starve, anyway. Not with Otto’s billions in the bank.”

  Lana’s voice tightened. “Not billions. That’s a dumb thing to say, Elliot. And any money his father set aside for him has nothing to do with this.”

  Lana ended the phone call soon after that. She was cool with me for the next few days. I could tell I’d touched a nerve.

  She didn’t want Leo to depend upon his inheritance. Fair enough. Work was important, Lana believed, for all kinds of reasons. For years, she had defined herself solely through her work, deriving intense satisfaction from it: a feeling of self-worth, a sense of purpose—not to mention the fortune that she made for herself and others.

  One day, Leo would inherit all of it; as well as his father’s money. He would be extremely wealthy. But not until she was dead.

  In her mind, Lana kept coming back to the last thing Leo said to her—his parting shot, as he left the kitchen. It was like a knife, slid between her ribs.

  Leo paused at the door and threw her a sideways look.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Give up acting. Why did you quit?”

  “I’ve told you.” Lana smiled. “I wanted a real life, not a pretend one.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It means I’m happier now.”

  “You miss it,” Leo said. This was not a question but a statement.

  “No, I don’t.” Lana kept smiling. “Not at all.”

  “Liar.”

  Leo turned and walked out. Lana stopped smiling.

  Liar.

  Leo was right. Lana was a liar. She was lying to Leo—and to herself.

  Finally she understood why this conversation had bothered her so much. This was the secret that had been chasing her around Soho. It had caught up with her at last.

  I do miss it, she thought. Of course I miss it. I miss it every day.

  The irony was that Leo had no idea that he himself was the cause of Lana’s retirement. She never told him that. Lana told few people why she quit. I was one of them.

  When Otto died, Leo was six years old. And Lana’s entire world fell apart. But she had to keep going, for Leo’s sake. So, she put herself back together the only way she knew how: through work. She threw herself into work. Even though her career went from strength to strength—and she made one of her most successful movies, The Loved One, which finally won her an Oscar—Lana wasn’t happy. She had the horrible feeling she was screwing up as a parent. Just as her own mother had screwed up.

  Lana knew she was in the privileged position of not needing to work. So why not retire and dedicate herself to raising her son? Why not put him first—as she had never been put first?

  So that’s what she did. She quit.

  Does that sound flippant? As if Lana made life-changing decisions on the toss of a coin? I assure you she didn’t. I suspect she had been mulling this over for years. Otto’s sudden and unexpected death forced Lana’s hand. You only had to glance at Leo now to see that her gamble had paid off. Yes, Leo was an occasionally temperamental teenager, but he was good-natured, intelligent, kind; and responsible. He cared about other people, and the planet he lived on.

  Lana was proud of how Leo had turned out. She felt sure it was down to her having had the right priorities. Unlike Kate, who was unmarried, childless, lurching from one disastrous, self-destructive relationship to another.

  Lana thought of Kate for a moment. She was currently rehearsing Agamemnon at the Old Vic. Kate was at the height of her profession, hugely creatively fulfilled, still cast in leading roles. Was Lana envious? Perhaps.

  But there was no going back. What if she returned to work now? Looking older, feeling older, inevitably inviting unfavorable comparison with her younger self? Any kind of comeback would involve compromise—and probably end in disappointment. Imagine a disastrous, or even mediocre, production? That would be devastating for her.

  No, Lana had made her choice—and been rewarded with a happy, well-adjusted son; a husband she loved; a marriage that worked. All this mattered enormously.

  Yes. She nodded to herself. That’s the end of the story, right here.

  It seemed poetic, somehow, after such a hectic and turbulent life, that Lana should end up here, quietly drinking tea, watching the rain fall. Lana Farrar was an old married lady—a mother, and one day, hopefully, a grandmother.

  She felt calm. That horrible anxious feeling left her. This is what it means to be content. Everything is perfect, just as it is.

  It was particularly cruel of fate to select that precise moment—just as Lana reached this epiphany about her life—for Agathi to enter the room.…

  And Lana’s world to fall apart.

  4

  Agathi’s day began uneventfully enough.

  Tuesday was always busy for her; the day she ran errands. She enjoyed it, being out and about, charging around Mayfair, a long list in her hand.

  As she left the house that morning, it seemed like a lovely day to be outdoors. The sun was shining and the skies were clear. Later on, like Lana, Agathi was caught in the rainstorm. But unlike her employer, she had been wise enough to take an umbrella.

  Agathi walked to the pharmacy, dropping off a prescription for Lana. Then she went to the local dry cleaner’s, run by Sid, a notoriously prickly man in his sixties. He was civil to Agathi, however, unlike to the rest of his clientele, on account of her association with Lana, whom he adored.

  Sid beamed at Agathi as she entered and beckoned her to the front of the queue. “Excuse me, dear,” he said to the customer at the head of the line. “I’ll just serve this lady first. She’s in a hurry—she works for Lana Farrar, you know.”

  Agathi winced slightly, embarrassed, as she made her way past the queue of waiting customers, none of whom dared to object.

  Sid gestured at the clothes hanging on the rail. They were wrapped in plastic, ready to go. “Here you go, Her Majesty’s garments. All nice and snug in case there’s a change in the weather. Looks like rain.”

  “You think so? Seems like a fine day to me.”

  Sid frowned. He didn’t like being contradicted. “No. Take it from me. It’ll be pissing down in half an hour.”

  Agathi nodded. She paid him for the clothes and was about to leave when Sid suddenly stopped her.

  “Wait a sec. Nearly forgot. Head like a sieve. Hang on—”

  Sid opened a little drawer. He carefully took out a small, sparkling piece of jewelry. An earring. He slid it across the counter.

  “Caught in Mr. Farrar’s suit, it was. Inside the lapel.”

  It’s Mr. Miller, not Farrar, Agathi thought. But she didn’t correct Sid.

  She looked at the earring. A delicate silver thing, in the shape of a half-crescent moon; with a chain of three diamonds hanging from it.

  She thanked him. She took the earring and left.

  As she walked home, Agathi wondered if she should tell Lana about the earring, or not? Such a stupid dilemma; so small, so trivial. And yet …

  What would have happened if she had dropped the earring in a rubbish bin, there on the street? Or put it in her bedside drawer, next to her grandmother’s crystal, and forgotten about it? What if she never mentioned it to Lana? What if she had kept her mouth shut?

  Well, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, talking to you, would I? Everything would be different. Which makes me think that the real hero of our story—or do I mean villain?—is Agathi. For it is her actions, and the decision she was about to make, that determined all our fates. She had no idea she was holding life and death in the palm of her hand.

  Just then, the rain began to fall.

  Agathi opened her umbrella and hurried home. When she got back to the house, she let herself in and made her way along the passage. She was shaking raindrops from the plastic-wrapped clothes, muttering to herself in Greek, in annoyance, when she entered the kitchen.

  Lana smiled. “Were you caught in the rain, too? I was—I got drenched.”

  Agathi didn’t reply. She draped the dry cleaning over the back of a chair. She looked miserable.

  Lana glanced at her. “Darling, are you okay?”

  “Huh? Oh—I’m fine.”

  “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “No.” Agathi shrugged. “It’s nothing. Nothing. Just … this.” She removed the earring from her pocket.

  “What is it?”

  Agathi went over to Lana. She unclenched her fist. She revealed the earring.

  “The dry cleaner found it. It was stuck on Jason’s jacket, inside the lapel. He thought it must be yours.”

  Agathi didn’t look at Lana as she said this. Nor did Lana look at her.

  “Let me see.” Lana held out her palm.

  Agathi dropped the earring on her hand. Lana went through the pretense of looking at it.

  “I can’t tell.” Lana gave the slightest of yawns, as if the conversation bored her. “I’ll check later.”

  “I can check for you,” Agathi said quickly. “Give it back to me.”

  She held out her hand—

  Lana, give it back to her. Give Agathi the earring—let her cover it up and take it away, out of your life. Put it out of your mind, Lana. Forget it, distract yourself, pick up your phone, give me a ring—let’s go for dinner, or a walk, watch a movie—then this terrible tragedy will be averted.…

  But Lana didn’t give the earring back to Agathi. Lana simply closed her fingers around it.

  And Lana’s fate was sealed.

  But not just her fate. What was I doing, I wonder, at that exact moment? Lunching with a friend? Or visiting an art gallery, or reading a book? I had no sense that my whole life had been derailed. Nor had Jason, sweating away in his office—nor had Leo, emoting in drama class—nor Kate, forgetting her lines at rehearsal.

  None of us had the slightest inkling that something so monstrous had occurred, rewriting all our destinies, setting into action a series of events that would ultimately end, four days later, in murder.

  This is where it started.

  This is where the countdown began.

  5

  Lana’s reaction was extreme, I’ll grant you that.

  It only makes sense if you know her. And you do know her, by now, don’t you? A little bit, anyway. So what happens next might not surprise you.

  Lana remained calm, at first—she went into her bedroom and sat at her dressing table. She stared at the earring in her hand. It wasn’t hers, she could tell that at a glance. Even so, she thought she had seen it somewhere before. But where?

  It’s nothing, she thought. It happened at the dry cleaner’s. A mix-up. Forget it.

  But she couldn’t forget it. She knew she was being irrational and paranoid—but she couldn’t let it go. The earring signified something much bigger in her psyche, you see. A bad omen she had been dreading.

  Her life had already fallen apart once before—when Otto died. Lana didn’t think she would ever recover or find love. So when she met Jason, it felt like she was being given a second chance. She could scarcely believe it. She felt safe, and happy—and loved.

  Lana was deeply romantic. She had been ever since she was a little girl; ever since that chilly, empty childhood, cursed with a mother who didn’t give a damn whether Lana lived or died. Little Lana filled the vacant space with romantic dreams—fairy-tale visions of escape, and stardom; and, most important, love.

  “All I’ve ever wanted was love,” she once admitted to me with a shrug. “Everything else was just … incidental.”

  Lana had loved Otto—but wasn’t in love with him. When he died, it felt like losing a father, not a lover. What she experienced with Jason was ferociously physical, intense and exciting. Lana let herself be a girl again, a teenager, besotted, drunk on lust.

  And it had happened so fast. One moment, she was being introduced to him by Kate—and, the next, she was walking down the aisle.

  How I wish I had grabbed Lana by the shoulders that first night—the night she met Jason—and shaken her hard. Stop this, I would have said. Live in reality. Do not turn this stranger you don’t know into a fairy-tale prince. Look closely at him—can’t you see he isn’t real? Don’t be fooled by the bright eyes, the overeager smile, the false laugh. Can’t you see it’s an act? Can’t you see his desperate, mercenary mind?

  But I said none of this to Lana. Even if I had, I doubt she would have heard a word. Love, it seems, is deaf as well as blind.

  Now, sitting at her dressing-table mirror, staring at the earring, Lana began to feel strangely dizzy—as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the ground crumble away in front of her, falling, falling, crashing to the rocks and the roaring sea below. It was all falling—all of it, her whole life, tumbling into the waves.

  Was Jason sleeping with another woman? Was this possible? Did he no longer desire her? Was their marriage a sham? Was she unwanted?

  Unloved?

  At this precise moment, it’s fair to say, Lana lost her mind. She raged and trembled and shook—and so did the bedroom, as she tore it apart. She rifled through all Jason’s things in a frenzy—drawers, cupboards, suits, pockets, underwear, socks, searching for anything concealed, any kind of clue. She nearly faltered when she looked through his wash bag in the bathroom, convinced she’d find condoms. But, no—nothing. Nor was there anything remotely shady or sinister in his study—no credit card receipts in the drawers, no incriminating bills. No second earring. Nothing. She knew she was driving herself mad. For the sake of her sanity, she must put this from her mind.

  Jason loves you, Lana told herself, you love him—and trust him. Calm down.

  But she couldn’t calm down. Once again she found herself pacing—once again feeling pursued by something unknowable.

  She glanced out the window. It had stopped raining.

  She grabbed her coat and went outside.

  6

  Lana walked for about an hour. She walked determinedly, all the way to the Thames. She focused on the physical sensation of walking, and trying not to think, trying not to let her mind go crazy.

  As Lana approached the river, she walked past a bus stop—and saw a poster on a billboard. She stopped. She stared at it. Kate’s face stared back at her in black and white—red blood spattered across it—and the title of the play: AGAMEMNON.

  Kate, she thought. Kate would counsel her. Kate would know what to do.

  Almost as a reflex, Lana hailed a passing black cab. It pulled up with a screech of brakes. She spoke through the open window to the driver.

  “The Old Vic, please.”

  Lana could feel herself calming down as the taxi raced over the bridge to the theater on the South Bank. In her mind, she could already picture them laughing about it—Kate telling her not to be silly, that she was imagining things; that it was absurd, that Jason was devoted to her. As she pictured this conversation, Lana felt a sudden rush of affection for Kate—her oldest, dearest friend. Thank God for Kate.