A woman whose partner could afford to employ a security company to keep an eye on her would be dressed from her skin up in designer labels. Silk, linen, cashmere. Would wear fine jewels.

What had he done to her to make her run? If not physical, then mental cruelty because she was running away from him, not to someone. His hands bunched into fists at the thought.

‘I was just catching up on my messages,’ she said.

‘Nothing you wanted to hear, by the look of you.’ For a moment she stared at him as if she wanted to say something, then shook her head. ‘You do know that you can be tracked by your phone signal?’ he asked.

Not that it was any of his business, he reminded himself, forcing his hands to relax.

‘It was only for a minute. I need to know what’s happening.’

Long enough. Who was important enough to her that she’d take the risk? Make that kind of promise?

A child?

No. She’d never have left a child behind.

‘Use some of that money you’ve got stashed away to buy the anonymity of a pay-as-you-go,’ he advised abruptly.

‘I will,’ she said, clearly as anxious as he was to change the subject. Then, lifting her chin, managing a smile, ‘I found a pie in the fridge so I’ve put that in the oven. I hope that’s all right?’

‘A pie?’

‘A meat pie.’

‘Ah…’

A tiny crease puckered the space between her beautifully arched brows.

‘Is that a good “ah” or a bad “ah”?’ she asked. Then, raising her hand to her mouth to display a set of perfectly manicured nails, she said, ‘Please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.’

‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Have you got something against vegetarians?’

‘No, but…’

‘Relax. You’re safe. What you’ve found is the equivalent of the fatted calf…’