Emily walked back to the guesthouse as the first few raindrops began to fall, her heart still hammering against her ribs.

That scream … She’d never heard anything like it, and yet it was oddly familiar. She could physically feel the sound in her own throat, scraping her vocal cords raw. She put it down to empathy. She’d been a somewhat difficult child herself—the temperamental owner, as Juliet liked to remind her, of a “right set of lungs”—and although the term “night terror” was never used, she’d definitely had a few bad dreams. She had vague memories of waking in the night drenched in sweat with her parents’ arms wrapped around her.

The thought of her parents sent a stab of guilt into her gut. The last few weeks at Querencia had been like living in a parallel universe; nothing else existed, nothing mattered except sunshine and good food and great wine and whether or not the pool chemicals were correctly balanced. And Nina had turned out to be such enjoyable company that Emily hadn’t once called home.

She pushed her toes through the sand as she walked, enjoying the splash of rain on her skin. So much had changed in almost a month. Strange to think that she’d very nearly jumped ship on her first day—but that had been her own fault. She could see that now. She hadn’t realized the extent to which the Proem office gossip had clouded her judgment, nor to which her meeting with Scott had affected her.

Scott. A little shiver ran around the rim of her pelvis, like an ice-cold spoon stirring a hot cup of tea. Wincing, she remembered how much she’d drunk when they had lunch that day. He must have thought she was an idiot. Hypnotized by his Colgate smile and nice suit, she’d stared and giggled and flipped her hair too much. And despite telling herself over and over again that she was not to confuse the situation, the situation had most definitely been confused.

Thankfully, though, nothing inappropriate had happened. When they left the restaurant, Scott had walked her to the Tube, where they shook hands in an ironic, flirty kind of way, and for a second Emily had felt a weird kind of instability, a shift in the atmosphere. But then they both said goodbye and walked away in opposite directions. (Her thoughts on the journey home, however, had been very inappropriate—and during the days that followed, they had transmuted into an almost full-blown obsession, so that by the time she climbed on board his private jet she was wondering whether their first romantic getaway would be in the Maldives or Bora Bora.)

Regardless, she’d turned up at Querencia feeling sly. But now she could see how silly she’d been; there was nothing between her and Scott, and she wouldn’t want there to be. She was no home-wrecker. And despite having initially searched for faults in Nina, willing there to be some justification for her resentment, she’d found none. Nina was absolutely lovely. Well, okay, she had her moments, but she had a lot to cope with, stuck out here on her own with a sick child and no friends or family on hand. Overall, she was funny, thoughtful, engaging, sincere, and wholly undeserving of all that malicious office gossip. In fact, Emily couldn’t have been more wrong about Scott and his wife not being suited. They were on the exact same level: the very highest one, where only the very best-looking, most charismatic people could go.

Funny, though, that Nina didn’t seem to mention her husband much. He came up in conversation when they were with Aurelia, perhaps with reference to a particular food that he liked or a toy that he’d bought, but otherwise they rarely spoke about him. Emily supposed it must be the distance. It must be hard for a family to be separated as much as the Dennys were, but all that money had to come from somewhere, and Scott certainly wasn’t going to make it sitting on a sun lounger in the middle of nowhere.

Luckily, Aurelia had a wonderful mother who literally gave every minute of every day to her daughter’s needs. Nina’s attention was so firmly fixed that you’d think she was competing in some sort of parenting Olympics. The toys, the clothes, the food, the homeschooling resources (Emily wasn’t privy to their classes, but the art studio that seemed to double as a classroom was stuffed to the gills with textbooks and crazy-looking technology), not to mention the close eye she kept on Aurelia’s health. Sure, some might say it was a bit too close—the phrase helicopter parent had popped into Emily’s head once or twice—but it couldn’t be easy coping with a kid whose medical condition meant that you couldn’t go anywhere or do anything.

Nina had told several hair-curling stories about times when they’d tried to venture out. Everything would be going great, and then Aurelia’s sunscreen would wash off, or she’d throw a fit and rip off her rash vest, or she’d roll up her sleeves to dig in the sand and five minutes later she’d be covered in blisters. And that would be it, Nina said. Bedbound for days. Not worth it.

And then there were the tantrums. According to Nina, Aurelia “had difficulty expressing herself” (an understatement, in Emily’s opinion; the kid never spoke), which meant that tension could build very quickly around the smallest of things, like choosing a dessert or explaining a game. Bigger things like eating out were no longer an option, which was a shame, but Emily could see Nina’s point. Four times in the past few days, Aurelia had lost it for no discernible reason.

All in all, Emily could understand why Nina might sometimes seem a little stressed out. She considered sharing some of her own childhood experiences (the nightmares, the panic attacks) in the hope that it might make Nina feel better. Don’t worry, she might say, it’s not just her; all kids do this. But she never seemed to have the right words. Not like Nina. Nina always had the right words. Nina was so self-aware, so able to talk about her feelings, so open about the relentless pressure of being a parent, the constant fear of getting it wrong, and the days when she wished it would all stop. She managed to talk almost poetically about her own anxiety and how she dealt with it—namely, by removing herself from an ever-changing, frantic roller coaster of a world; by unplugging herself from the news, the internet, smartphones, and a multitude of ludicrous apps; by practicing mindfulness and stripping from her life anything that she didn’t absolutely need (Emily assumed this didn’t include material possessions, because there were an awful lot of those). By Nina’s own admission, she didn’t always get it right, but at least she was trying.

That wasn’t how they did things in Emily’s family. The Proudman tradition was to sweep every worry under the carpet. They’d ignore every problem and then act surprised when it came back to bite them, surfacing in some ugly, undignified way. Juliet was especially good at denial. “I’m sure it’ll all work out,” she’d say, or “Try not to worry about it,” or “Don’t dwell on the negatives; think about the positives!” That made Emily want to throw things at her. What was wrong with admitting when things were shit? Juliet wanted people to think that she was happy all the time, but Emily didn’t buy it. Her smile was too brittle.

Thunder rolled over the sky and Emily jumped. She realized she’d been standing in front of the guesthouse, deep in thought, for quite some time, and her clothes were now soaking wet.

She tilted her face to the sky and let the rain wash over her. As the water drip-drip-dripped through the trees, she wondered for the thousandth time when Scott might show up. He said he spent as much time as possible in France, but so far there had been no sign of him. Despite feeling increasingly close to Nina, Emily would have felt awkward asking about him, but he’d make an appearance soon, surely. And when he did, he’d be impressed. He’d see that Emily had slotted seamlessly into his family’s life, and that she was doing him proud. With a happy sigh, she pushed open the door of the guesthouse.

Above her head, on a metal mount drilled into the brickwork, a camera whirred softly, its red light winking on and off.

* * *

Later that night Emily was woken by a beam of light falling across her pillow. Sitting up, she saw that the curtains hanging over the French windows were not quite closed, and something bright was spilling through the gap. She shuffled over and peered outside. One of the security lights had been triggered, the one mounted just outside her balcony.

And below, at the edge of the lawn, something was moving.

Instinctively, she stepped back and dropped the curtain. A few seconds later, she began to wonder if she’d imagined it. She parted the curtains again, just an inch, and saw a figure walking in slow circles on the grass.

Nina. Head down, arms wrapped tightly around her body, shoulders heaving with what looked like sobs.