Page 8 of The House Guest

‘Thank you,’ said Ruth. She looked close to tears.

‘What did he get?’ asked the man. ‘Your purse?’

‘My phone.’ I saw her make an effort to get hold of herself. ‘It’s just the shock.’

‘And the inconvenience, right? Hey, there’s a cop over there. You should go report it. Anyway, sorry I couldn’t catch him. I’m not as young as I used to be.’ He smiled sympathetically and walked away.

‘He’s right,’ I said.

Ruth stared towards the police officer. He was standing near the edge of the park. ‘What’s the point?’

‘You’ll need a crime number for the insurance.’

‘It’s not insured.’

‘But—’

‘My insurance only covers medical and legal costs, not gadgets. I went for the cheap option. Anyway, it’s not the phone itself I’m worried about.’

‘What is it then?’

She had gone pale. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘There are pictures on the phone. You know. The ones I sent you. If they get out ...’

‘It wouldn’t be a disaster.’

‘It might not damage my career but it would beembarrassing.’

‘Try not to worry. They won’t be able to unlock it without—’

‘Adam, I was using it. It was already unlocked.’

‘Shit. Okay, in that case, we can remotely delete the contents.’ I took my own phone out and opened the Find My iPhone app. ‘Just give me the login to your iCloud account and I can do it now.’

We sat down together on a bench and Ruth typed her login details into the app. Her hand was shaking and she kept mistyping them. Gently, I took the phone from her and she told me the password.

‘There,’ I said, a minute later. ‘It’s done. Should take five minutes or so to erase everything.’

What I didn’t mention was that if the thief had done the sensible thing and switched the phone into offline mode, this remote erase wouldn’t work. I quickly checked Find My iPhone and discovered this was exactly what they had done.

I didn’t tell Ruth. I didn’t want to worry her.

‘Let’s go home,’ I said.

Chapter 4

Back at the house, I thought Eden had gone out. But heading through to the kitchen to get a glass of water, I saw her through the back window, in the garden.

It was one of the amazing things about this place. When we told New Yorkers we were staying in a house in the centre of Williamsburg, right next to the L train, and that we had a decent-sized garden, their jaws dropped open. This house must have been worth a fortune. Okay, it was shabby and needed modernising. The paint was peeling from the walls, the plumbing and electrics both needed attention, the A/C was constantly on the blink and there were damp patches in the basement. But this was a townhouse with three bedrooms in one of the most desirable neighbourhoods in not just New York but the whole country. When we first came here I had, out of interest, checked the local real estate listings. There was a similar property a few streets away that was on the market for an eye-watering $3 million.

Jack and Mona were rich. I didn’t know if they had earned this money themselves or if it was inherited wealth, but I had to assume it was mostly the latter. College professors don’t earn big bucks, and even though Mona had told me her business was lucrative, I found it hard to believe it wasthatlucrative.

‘We only bought this place last year and we’ve both been so busy we haven’t had time to fix it up,’ Mona had explained when they showed us around.

‘Plus we kinda like it as it is,’ Jack added. ‘It’s got character.’

‘I don’t even know how we’re going to fit all our stuff in here when we finally unpack,’ Mona said. ‘There are, like, thirty boxes full of stuff in the basement.’

‘Which is supposed to be the office,’ said Jack.

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