![]() ![]() Living where she did, she knew this sound well. As she whipped off the duvet cover she heard a sound like the crack of a high-velocity air rifle. Nathalie was cleaning the en-suite bathroom and Jess was changing the beds, humming along to the radio that they carried between jobs. It was April and, judging by the empty juice cartons and wet towels, the Ritters were in residence. Jess and Nathalie cleaned their spacious, Farrow-&-Ball-painted four-bedroom home twice a week when they were there, and once when they weren’t. They spent most of their time on the manicured stretch of the beach, and visited the town only to fill up their people-carrier with diesel or to top up their groceries at the retail park. Mrs Ritter generally stayed on throughout the holidays while her husband stayed in the city. ![]() They came down from London most weekends with their children. Back when the developers promised local families access to the swimming pool, and assured everyone that a large upmarket development would bring benefits to their little seaside town, instead of sucking out what remained of its life. Jess and Nathalie had cleaned Mr and Mrs Ritter’s holiday home for almost three years, since the Beachfront holiday park was part paradise, part building site. Not because she stole it but because she didn’t. ![]() The irony did not escape Jessica Thomas that she lost the best job she’d ever had because of a diamond. ![]()
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