Chapter 1

I lock my front door hurriedly, keys jangling, and am instantly flooded with panic. Did I put the alarm on? I can't remember hearing the familiar bleeps. Tom will go loopy if he comes home to an unarmed house. Hesitating, I go to look at my watch and that's when I spot him, standing on the edge of the pavement, outside Mr Stanhope's house next door. He has one hand in his grey joggers, orange carrier bag hanging from his wrist, phone pressed against his black beanie-covered ear. Shit, this is all I need. Blood rushing to my cheeks, I make my way along the footpath, heels click-clacking against the paving stones in time with my racing heart. Did I put the alarm on? I must've, I must've.

‘Sorry, gotta go,' he says quickly into the mouthpiece. ‘I do too. Yup. See you later.' Sliding his phone into his pocket, he rounds on me. ‘Bella, I was just about to knock for you when…'

‘What are you doing here, Frank?' I interject, adjusting the thick strap of my camera bag that is digging into my shoulder. ‘Are you out of your mind?'

‘Um, I tried phoning but…'

I click my tongue, not letting him finish. ‘What do you want? I'm busy.'

‘A quick word, that's all,' he says, in that raspy tone of his.

I screw my face up. ‘I'm on my way to see a client,' I admit, self-consciously looking this way and that. ‘I don't want to be late. You really do need to go.'

‘At this time?' He looks at his fancy watch. I haven't seen it before. He usually wears a Garmin. It's impressive – green dial in a platinum case with a deeper green alligator leather strap. Cost a fortune, no doubt. ‘I thought you finished at four on Fridays.'

Did I tell him that? I can't remember. I must've done. We talked a lot during training. He seemed nice, kind. Woke, if you like. Unlike some of the other trainers, he never eyed women up, not even the young, gorgeous ones, even when they openly flirted with him. At one point, I wondered if he might be gay.

‘I'm sorry to turn up like this.' He does that thing with his eyes, as if dust has flown in. I always thought it was a tick, that it happened because he was shy, but now I can't help thinking he does it on purpose, to get attention. ‘I know you don't like unexpected visitors.' I don't and neither does he. It's a pet hate we share. One of the trivial things we discussed during our twice weekly, sixty-pounds an hour sessions.

‘Listen.' I pause, exhale loudly. ‘If this is about what happened last Tuesday, I just want to forget it.'

‘Bella, please. I don't want any trouble,' he insists, palms up. ‘All I want is two minutes of your time, and then I'll be gone.' I huff, look at my watch, tell him to go on. ‘The thing is…' A ruckus of voices steals his attention as a throng of youngsters spill out of a house three doors away. ‘I was worried about you,' he continues. Liar. Although I must admit, he does look a bit rough around the edges – sunken-eyed, uneven skin tone – unusual for him. He spends more on facial products than I do.

‘You needn't have been,' I say, trying to mollify him so he can bugger off. ‘I'm fine.'

‘It's not like you to ignore my texts, to not even read them.' Shit. I forgot to turn Read Receipts off. ‘And when you didn't show up for our training session …' he falters. ‘I was imagining all sorts.' He gives me one of his faux doleful looks, with those chocolate almond-shaped eyes. I stay silent, studying my black stilettoes. ‘Bella, if this is because your husband found out about us,' he continues, and my head whips up.

‘Us?' I shrill, scratching the side of my mouth as the MPV full of teens roars off. ‘What the hell do you mean?'

‘Well, he doesn't know you hired me, right?' I purse my lips. I forgot I confided in him about that. It wasn't intentional. He caught me off guard one morning when I was ratty and sleep-deprived, offered a discount to family and friends. When I said I'd put the word out, he immediately asked for Tom's email so that he could send him a direct invite, and the truth flew out of my mouth.

‘It's got nothing to do with that,' I say irritably. And everything to do with how much it was costing me. I don't habitually lie to my husband, unless there's money involved. Zelda calls him Ebenezer. Behind his back, of course.

‘Can I ask why you've ghosted me then?'

‘I haven't. Not intentionally.' My eyes dart up and down our quiet cul-de-sac. The thought of an altercation outside my front door, with my new neighbours peering through their voile nets and smart shutters, fills me with unease. ‘Frank, I'm sorry I didn't read your texts.' A loud high-pitched beep startles me. It's Anna, from number nineteen, two doors across, unlocking her car, dark hair held up in a messy bun with a yellow band. I've only spoken to her a handful of times but she seems nice. Ralf, her fifteen-year-old son, is in my Georgia's English class. I look back at Frank. ‘I haven't had a chance to read them yet. Perhaps you shouldn't send so many all at once. It's overwhelming.' Confusion sweeps across his face, or is it incredulity? ‘I'm snowed under, lots of admin to sift through.' Frank nods, reminds me that I told him my PA is on maternity leave and I've yet to find a temp. ‘Sorry, but I'm going to have to go. I'm cutting it fine as it is and…' I look at my watch – 17.26. ‘My husband is due home any moment and if he finds you here…'

Frank laughs, throws a glance at his tattooed left arm, bulging out of his green short-sleeved Serval top. ‘I haven't come here for a fight.' That's just as well because he'd flatten Tom with one punch. Tom's a slim fifty-two-year-old silver fox, golfing keeps him fit, but he wouldn't last five seconds in a ring with Frank. ‘But we do need to sort out Tuesday's misunderstanding.'

‘Excuse me?' I retort, readjusting the strap of my heavy bag.

Frank rubs the back of his neck. ‘Look, some clients get a crush on their personal trainers.'

‘I don't doubt it. But I'm not one of them.'

‘It's not as if anything actually happened? Our lips brushed but we didn't snog, or anything. No harm done, eh?'

I look at him aghast. ‘Firstly, I have not got a crush on you,' I insist, flicking a thumb out. ‘And secondly.' I flick out my index finger and point it at him like a gun. ‘I think you'll find that you're the one with the infatuation.' Especially as I'm twenty years your senior. ‘I'm a happily married woman.'

He holds his designer stubbled chin. ‘Is that so?'

‘Yes,' I snap. If he's come here to throw accusations at me, it's not going to wash.

Glancing across the road, I notice Anna seated in her car, phone pressed against her ear, lips moving. She hasn't seen me. Taking a step to the side, I shield myself behind Frank's V-shaped body, then as I go to speak I hear the sound of raised voices. Ralf has appeared on the driveway looking stylish in a high-collared padded yellow gilet and electric blue flares. With his big afro-blonde hair, he looks as if he's stepped out of a 70s album sleeve.

‘It's not fair,' Ralf booms. Frank looks round, biting his thumbnail, as Anna swings her legs around and climbs out of her Volvo.

‘Get in the car,' Anna retaliates, pushing the sleeves of her long brown coat up a fraction. ‘Hey, Bella,' she calls out. And now she's seen me. With Frank. Brilliant. Folding her arms, she looks across at him, features set in uncertainty. ‘Everything okay?' Anna wraps her coat around her and I'm sure I catch a flash of red tartan pyjamas.

‘All good, thanks, Anna.' I wave a hand. A phone rings. ‘Haven't seen you in a while,' I holler. Definitely pyjamas. And bare feet in trainers. Anna presses her phone to her ear again. I don't think she heard me. I turn back to Frank to the commotion of slamming doors and the hum of voices. ‘Look, you've had your say. So, if there's nothing else.'

‘Well, actually, there is.' There's a pause and then. ‘I enjoy working with people who genuinely want to get into shape. It makes it all worthwhile. What happened last Tuesday was just a blip. Nothing we can't sort out.'

‘Listen, Frank, whatever you think happened, I am not and never have been interested in an affair.' He raises an eyebrow, which is plucked to perfection. ‘I would never cheat on my husband.'

‘Okay,' he admits, holding his hands up. My stomach unclenches. At last, we're getting somewhere. ‘Keeping me a secret from him is kinda cheating, though, isn't it?' Acid flares in my stomach. ‘Oh, keep your hair on, Bella. I'm not hanging around here waiting for him to come home so I can grass you up, if that's what you're thinking. I'd never betray client confidentiality, no matter what. You have my word.' He places his hand on his toned chest. ‘Nor will I mention...' Licking his lips he glances away, sniffs. ‘The other little incident you're keeping from your husband.' My muscles seize. Don't rise to the bait, Bella. Calmly get in the car and drive to Mrs Anderson's – you don't want to keep a client waiting.

‘Good,' I say tightly. ‘Thank you.' I go to move, his hand snaps around my wrist.

‘But you didn't need to cancel your gym membership over a silly misunderstanding and sack me. We had a deal, remember?'

And there it is. The reason he's here. Money.