Behind Closed Doors: The gripping psychological thriller everyone is raving about

‘Dena Anderson,’ he muses. ‘That must be an interesting case.’

‘It is,’ Jack agrees. He turns to me. ‘Darling, if everyone’s finished, why don’t you show Esther the photos of our last holiday in Thailand?’

My heart sinks. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t want to see our holiday snaps,’ I say, keeping my voice purposefully light. But even that slight suggestion of discord between the two of us is enough for Esther.

‘I would love to see them!’ she exclaims.

Jack pushes his chair back and stands up. He takes the photo album from the drawer and hands it to Esther. ‘Then Grace and I will make coffee while you look at the photographs. Why don’t you go through to the sitting room—you’ll be more comfortable there.’

By the time we come back from the kitchen with a tray of coffee, Diane is exclaiming over the photos, although Esther doesn’t say much.

I have to admit that the photos are stunning and, in those where I can be seen, I am shown to my advantage: beautifully tanned, as slim as I was in my twenties, and wearing one of my many bikinis. In most of the photos, I’m standing in front of a luxurious hotel, or lying on its private beach, or sitting in a bar or restaurant with a colourful cocktail and a plate of exotic food in front of me. In each one I am smiling up at the camera, the epitome of a relaxed and pampered woman very much in love with her husband. Jack is something of a perfectionist when it comes to taking photographs and takes the same shot over and over again until he is happy with the result, so I have learnt to get it right the first time. There are also some photographs of the two of us, taken by amenable strangers. It is Diane who points out teasingly that in those photographs, Jack and I are often gazing adoringly at each other rather than at the camera.

Jack pours the coffee.

‘Would anyone like a chocolate?’ I ask, reaching as casually as I can for the box that Esther brought.

‘I’m sure we’ve all had quite enough to eat,’ Jack suggests, looking around at everyone for confirmation.

‘Definitely,’ says Rufus.

‘I couldn’t eat another thing,’ Adam groans.

‘Then I’ll put them away for another day.’ Jack holds his hand out for the box and I’m just resigning myself to never tasting them when Diane comes to the rescue.

‘Don’t you dare—I’m sure I can fit in a chocolate or two.’

‘I suppose there’s no point mentioning your bikini,’ Adam sighs, shaking his head in mock despair at his wife.

‘Absolutely no point at all,’ Diane agrees, taking a chocolate from the box Jack has handed her and passing it to me. I take one, pop it in my mouth and offer the box to Esther. When she declines to take one, I take another before passing the box back to Diane.

‘How do you do it?’ Diane asks, looking at me in wonder.

‘Sorry?’

‘Eat so much and never put on weight.’

‘Luck,’ I say, reaching over and taking another chocolate. ‘And control.’

It’s only when the clock strikes half-twelve that Esther suggests making a move. In the hall, Jack hands out the coats and, while he helps Diane and Esther on with theirs, I agree to meet them in town the following Friday at ‘Chez Louis’ for lunch at twelve-thirty. Diane hugs me goodbye and when I shake Esther’s hand I tell her that I’m looking forward to seeing her again at the lunch. The men kiss me goodbye and, as they leave, everybody thanks us for a perfect evening. In fact, there are so many ‘perfects’ ringing round the hall as Jack closes the door behind them that I know I’ve triumphed. But I need to make sure that Jack knows I have.

‘We need to leave at eleven tomorrow,’ I say, turning to him. ‘To get there in time to take Millie for lunch.’

PAST

My life became perfect eighteen months ago, the day Jack danced with Millie in the park. Some of what I told Esther was true—I’d seen Jack in the park the previous Sunday but hadn’t thought he’d be interested in someone like me. First of all, he was exceptionally good-looking and back then I didn’t look as good as I do now. And then there was Millie.

Sometimes I told my boyfriends about her from the beginning, sometimes—if I liked them a lot—I said that I had a younger sister who was away at school but only mentioned that she had Down’s syndrome a few weeks into the relationship. Some, when I told them, didn’t know what to say and didn’t stay around long enough to say anything much at all. Others were interested, supportive even, until they met Millie and were unable to classify her spontaneity as wonderful, as Jack did. Two of the best were still there long after they met her, but even they had trouble accepting what a huge part of my life Millie was.

The clincher was always the same; I’d told Millie from the beginning that when the time came for her to leave her wonderful but highly expensive school she would come and live with me, and I had no intention of letting her down. It meant that six months previously I’d had to let go of Alex, the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, the man who I’d lived very happily with for two years. But when Millie had turned sixteen, the imminence of her arrival began to weigh heavily on him—which is why I found myself, at thirty-two years old, single once again and seriously doubting that I would ever find a man who would accept both Millie and me.

In the park that day, I wasn’t the only one who noticed Jack, although I was probably the most discreet. Some—mainly the younger women—smiled at him openly, trying to catch his attention, while teenage girls giggled behind their hands and whispered excitedly that he had to be a film star. The older women looked at him appreciatively and then, more often than not, at the man walking beside them, as if they found him wanting. Even the men looked at Jack as he walked through the park, as there was a casual elegance about him that couldn’t be ignored. The only one who remained oblivious to him was Millie. Engrossed in the card game we were playing, there was only one thought in her mind—winning.

Like many others that day in late August, we were picnicking on the grass not far from the bandstand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack head for a nearby bench and, when he took a book from his pocket, I turned my attention back to Millie, determined not to let him see me looking at him. As Millie dealt the cards for yet another game, I decided he was probably a foreigner, an Italian perhaps, in London for the weekend with his wife and children who were visiting some monument or other and would join him later.

As far as I was concerned, he didn’t even look my way that afternoon, unperturbed, it seemed, by Millie’s loud cries of ‘Snap!’ We left soon after because I had to get Millie back to her school by six o’clock, in time for dinner at seven. Even though I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, my mind returned again and again to the man I’d seen in the park and I found myself pretending that he wasn’t married, that he had noticed me and had fallen in love with me and planned to return to the park the following Sunday in the hope of seeing me again. I hadn’t fantasised about a man in such a way since I was a teenager and it made me realise how much I was beginning to despair of ever getting married and having a family. Although I was devoted to Millie, I had always imagined that by the time she came to live with me I would have children of my own, so she would become a part of my family rather than my sole family. I loved her dearly, but the thought of the two of us growing old together on our own filled me with dread.

The following week, the day the band was playing in the park, I didn’t see Jack until he walked up to where Millie was dancing by herself in front of the bandstand, her arms around a partner only she could see. At such times, the emotions Millie provoked in me were often hard to deal with. While I was fiercely proud of her, that she had managed to master the steps she was performing, I was also fiercely protective, and when I heard someone laughing behind me I had to remind myself that their laughter was probably kind and that even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t affect Millie’s enjoyment of what she was doing. But the urge to stand up and bring her back to her seat was so strong that I hated myself for it, and for just about the first time I found myself wishing that Millie was ordinary. Images flashed through my mind of how our lives—my life—could have been and it was as I was quickly blinking away the tears of frustration which had filled my eyes that I saw Jack making his way towards Millie.

At first, I didn’t recognise him and, thinking he was going to ask Millie to sit back down, I got to my feet, ready to intervene. It was only when I saw him bowing to her and holding out his hand that I realised he was the man I’d been dreaming about all week. By the time he brought Millie back to her seat two dances later, I’d fallen in love with him.

‘May I?’ he asked, indicating the chair next to me.

‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled at him gratefully. ‘Thank you for dancing with Millie, it was very kind of you.’

‘The pleasure was all mine,’ he said gravely. ‘Millie is a very good dancer.’

‘Nice man!’ Millie said, beaming at him.

‘Jack.’

‘Nice Jack.’

‘I really should introduce myself properly.’ He held out his hand. ‘Jack Angel.’

‘Grace Harrington,’ I said, shaking it. ‘Millie’s my sister. Are you here on holiday?’

‘No, I live here.’ I waited for him to add ‘with my wife and children’ but he didn’t, so I stole a look at his left hand and when I saw that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring I felt such a rush of relief I had to remind myself it didn’t mean anything. ‘And you? Are you and Millie visiting London?’

‘Not really. I live in Wimbledon but I often bring Millie here at weekends.’

‘Does she live with you?’

‘No, she boards at her school during the week. I try and see her most weekends, but as I travel a lot for my job it’s not always possible. Fortunately, she has a wonderful carer who steps in when I can’t be with her. And our parents do, of course.’

‘Your job sounds exciting. Can I ask what you do?’

‘I buy fruit.’ He looked at me quizzically. ‘For Harrods.’

‘And the travelling?’

‘I source fruit from Argentina and Chile.’

‘That must be interesting.’

‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘What about you?’

‘I’m a lawyer.’