Ellen felt a rush of prickly heat flood her whole body like an instant allergic reaction. “Luisa,” she said. “I’m so sorry—”

“Just give me my money back.”

Never ever give a client a refund. Flynn had drummed that into her. This is a professional service you’re offering. Professionals do not give a refund for no reason. Respect yourself. Respect what you do.

“You’re a quack,” said Luisa. Her voice quivered on the edge of tears. “Why should I help fund stuff for your baby? Your baby’s clothes, your baby’s nappies. Do you think with all the money we’re spending on IVF that we need this extra expense? My husband told me, he said all this alternative stuff is a load of crap, and he was right.”

She was sobbing now, rocking back and forth as though she was wracked with pain. Ellen’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears. What to say, what to say?

“Luisa, I really believe that we could still—”

“Just give me my money back.”

“All right,” said Ellen. “I will. Just give me a minute. I’ll write you a check.”

This was a first. Nobody had ever asked for a refund before. She’d always known that if they did, she would ignore Flynn’s instructions.

She took her checkbook from the drawer of her desk and watched her hand shake slightly as she wrote Luisa’s name. All her pregnancy symptoms suddenly intensified: Her br**sts hardened and burned and her mouth filled with metal; her body obviously wanted to make her feel even guiltier for being pregnant when Luisa wasn’t.

“It better not bounce.” Luisa stuffed the check into her handbag.

“It won’t,” said Ellen. One part of her wanted to slap the woman and the other part wanted to hug her.

“Right, well, I’ll be…” Luisa sneezed three times in a row. She pressed her sodden tissue to her nose and looked at Ellen with streaming eyes.

“Bless you,” said Ellen. Her hand went out involuntarily to touch Luisa’s arm in a gesture of sympathy. The poor woman looked so pitiful.

“Don’t touch me,” said Luisa. She turned and walked down the stairs, blowing her nose the whole way. Patrick looked up from the hallway, where he was in the process of straightening up while he hefted two giant garbage bags over his shoulders like a weight lifter. He smiled politely at Luisa, and then his smile vanished as he saw her clearly unhappy demeanor. His eyes moved questioningly to Ellen’s and she silently shrugged.

Ellen opened the door for Luisa and she left without saying a word, walking briskly down the path, her chin jutting forward, arms swinging, as if she was on her way to put a stop to something.

“What’s her problem?” asked Patrick, coming to stand beside her at the door.

“She’s mad at me for being pregnant when she’s not,” said Ellen. “She— Who’s that?”

Luisa had stopped near the top of the path to talk to a tall man in dark sunglasses and a stylish suit.

“Do you know him?” asked Patrick.

“I don’t think so,” said Ellen.

She had a strong sense of foreboding as she watched Luisa fling back her arm toward the house while the man bent toward her, listening with his whole body. He was far too interested in what Luisa was saying; whoever he was, Ellen didn’t want him talking to Luisa right now.

“It’s not a new client, is it?” said Patrick. “Because it looks like she’s giving him an earful.”

“I’m not expecting anyone,” said Ellen. She squinted. The man turned so she could see his face in profile. He had a big, beaky nose. There was something familiar about him.

“I feel like I know him from somewhere.” Patrick shifted the garbage bags more comfortably on his shoulders.

“Me too,” said Ellen. “Is he a newsreader or something? An actor?”

They watched as Luisa reached into her handbag and held something up to the man.

“I think she’s showing him the check I gave her,” said Ellen.

“Why did you give her a check?”

“It’s a refund,” said Ellen.

“A refund? You gave her a refund because you’re pregnant?”

“I’ll explain later. What’s he doing now?”

The man reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out something that appeared to be a business card. Luisa glanced at it and then smiled.

“Oh, God,” said Ellen. “Who is this man?”

“I’ll go and find out,” said Patrick. “They can’t just stand there chatting on your property.”

“No, wait.” Ellen chewed a fingernail and watched Luisa carefully put the man’s card in her bag, like she was filing away an important document, before walking off. The man lifted a hand to wave good-bye, and then came striding down the footpath, smoothly removing his sunglasses with one hand. He looked angry and determined, as if he was walking straight to the lost luggage counter at the airport.

“Right,” said Patrick. He set down the garbage bags and opened the screen door. “Can I help you, mate?”

There was an aggressive edge to his voice. Ellen tugged at the back of his T-shirt. “Patrick, don’t—”

“I’m here to see Ellen O’Farrell,” said the man. He didn’t smile. Most people couldn’t help but give at least a perfunctory smile when they walked to the door of a strange house.

“Have you got an appointment?” Patrick squared his shoulders.