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happened? It was dreamlike. Had she heard someone drowning? Or had she imagined it?
    Confused, she stared across the courtyard. Suddenly out of the fog of memory and doubt she had a clear vision of Sean’s face staring at her through that window, just before she fainted, and she knew she had not imagined anything. It had really happened.
    First, she had heard them shouting at each other, and she winced at the memory of what they had said, then those awful, terrifyingly familiar noises had begun.
    Panic welled up inside her. What was going on over there now? Was Sean still there, or had he left? What if he was coming round here, to confront her?
    Her hands shook with nerves at the idea of seeing him after what she had overheard. What could she say? What would he do?
    She wanted to run, but wouldn’t give in to it. She had to do everything she always did before leaving the office. Ever since the shipwreck, she found life safer if she stuck to a careful routine. Habit was the hedge that kept out chaos. Leave out something you usually did and the boundaries burst and a deluge rushed in on you. That was what she had learnt in hospital. Get up at the same time, go to bed at the same time, eat at the same times, every day. Safety was a small oasis in the middle of a jungle. You had to stay inside those parameters or you would be lost.
    So she lowered the blinds again, picked up the work she had been doing, put it into the safe, locked it, shut down her computer and locked the drawers of her desk. Only then did she pick up her handbag and leave.
    As soon as she was out of the office, though, her iron control broke and she began to hurry, to run, her breath coming quickly. Must get away before Sean arrived, she thought. Must get away.
    The porter was in his little cubbyhole making a pot of tea; she heard the kettle whistling, heard him rinsing a cup, clattering a spoon into a saucer.
    He stuck his head round the door. ‘Finished? Hang on, I’ll let you out.’
    She waited in a fury of impatience, watching the street which was almost empty except for the odd car driving past. Sean would have to come that way, but she couldn’t see him yet. He would either have to go down to the car park or walk across the courtyard – there was no direct way through to the office complex from the private apartment. Terry had often complained about it, said how much time he lost having to go the roundabout route. One day soon he meant to get the builders in to make it easier, to put a door in each building so that it would be easier to walk out of the back of one into the back of the other. But it would cost a good deal, and cause a big upheaval, so he kept putting it off.
    ‘There you go!’ the porter said and the glass door clicked open.
    ‘Thanks,’ she called and hurried out, hearing the door shut behind her and lock.
    Now she was out in the open, and vulnerable. She felt hunted. Her eyes flicked round the street but there were few people in view; she could see nobody looking back at her.
    Her car was in the underground car park. She hesitated to enter the shadowy underpass, looking for movement, for a darker shadow down there, ears alert for the sound of footfalls, but nobody moved, there was no sound.
    So she ran down the slope into the dimly lit interior. She couldn’t see anyone and there were no other cars parked there, although on a weekday it would have been full.
    Sean must have come by car, but he had no doubt parked on the far side of the complex.
    Her car was parked close to the exit. It only took her a minute to reach it, press her automatic key ring to open the doors, and dive inside. She locked it again at once, started her engine and drove out, sick with relief at having escaped.
    Sunlight dazzled her eyes. She fished in her glove compartment for dark glasses and put them on as she drove northwards. Inside her head the noises went on and on – if only she could turn them off, like a radio. She had often thought that, after