'Really?' She looked genuinely stricken. 'Well,' she added purposefully, as Trigger bounded joyfully about, barking his head off, 'we've got to nip this in the bud.'

'And we will. I won't be able to "cure" him today,' I pointed out. 'But I can show you how you're accidentally reinforcing his negative behaviour, then you'll be able to work with him on your own. But you'll need to be committed.'

She looked at me seriously. 'Okay. Tell me what to do.'

I explained that the best punishment for Trigger was not to be yelled at-but to be totally ignored.

'Dogs can't stand it,' I continued. 'It's the worst punishment in the world for them to be denied their human's undivided attention-but that's what you've got to do. And if he behaves really badly-say if he bites one of the other dogs-then he has to have some time out. Because if he's tethered and the other two are free, that'll really take him down a few pegs.'

'I see.' Trigger suddenly snapped at one of the Westies, then pinioned it to the ground.

'Oh you beast!' Caroline had rushed up to him and grabbed him by the collar.

'No, don't say anything,' I said. 'Simply tie him up somewhere.'

'Tie him up?'

'Yes. I know it sounds unkind, but it's not.'

Caroline disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with Trigger's lead. Then she tethered him to the gatepost, in the shade, with a bowl of water.

'Now, we'll leave him there while we stroll around with the other dogs, off the lead. He won't be able to stand it.'

By the time we untied him five minutes later, Trigger was shaking and trembling. 'Look how his body language has changed,' I said. 'He can't understand why you did that to him. He found it incredibly humiliating. He's upset and subdued. Look-he's really grovelling.' He was. He was practically sitting on Caroline's feet, looking up at her imploringly, whimpering softly.

'Wow,' she breathed. 'I see what you mean.'

'If you really want his behaviour to improve, then you've got to make him feel less secure. Basically, he's a bully,' I said, 'and like most bullies he's a coward, so if you're firm you'll put him in his place. He's got to have his desired position as top dog taken away,' I reiterated.

She nodded. 'I just didn't realize all this, because I've never had a difficult dog before.'

'Well, does it make sense to you?'

'Yes.' She seemed surprised. 'It does.'

'What you need to do is to carry out a dominance reduction programme, both outside and inside the house.' As we went in again, I reminded her that dogs are pack animals, and need to know their place in the hierarchy otherwise they feel unhappy and confused. 'They're like young children,' I went on. 'Children are happier when they're given firm boundaries-and that's what you've got to do with him. So you mustn't let him sit on the sofa,' I added, 'or get on the bed-otherwise that means he's at your own height. Don't let him go through doors before you, and make him wait until you've eaten before he gets fed. In fact, feed the other dogs first.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Show him that his status is not as high as he'd like to think it is.'

'And how long will it take for him to learn?'

'Well, he's very intelligent, so maybe just a few weeks. But you'll have to stick to it religiously,' I said, as we returned to the drawing room. 'I know you love him, but making him learn how to behave well is actually the kind thing to do. And if he's aggressive to the other dogs, then tether him for a few minutes; he'll gradually make the a.s.sociation and stop.'

'I feel so much better now,' Caroline breathed as she scribbled down notes. 'You've explained it all very well. Now, I must pay you.' As she went in search of her handbag I gazed again at her wedding photo. I hadn't seen her husband on the TV. I'd met him. Definitely... There was no question. But where? Suddenly the phone rang, and I heard Caroline pick up.

'Oh, that is disappointing,' I heard her say. The hall was so large, her voice echoed. 'Well, don't worry, I quite understand. I don't know who else I'll find at such short notice, but if that's the situation it can't be helped. Thanks for letting me know,' she concluded, regretfully. I heard her footsteps, then she reappeared, looking thoughtful.

'That's a nuisance,' she said. 'We've got the village fete here on Sat.u.r.day in aid of the PDSA. We're having a dog show as part of it and Trinny and Susannah had agreed to judge it-it includes a fancy dress compet.i.tion-but Trinny's just phoned to say that they're now filming that day and can't. What a drag,' she groaned as she got out her cheque book and began to write. 'It's going to be very hard to find anyone else and I'm so busy as it is and-' Her pen had stopped and she suddenly looked at me. 'I don't suppose you'd do it, would you?'

'Me?'

'Yes.'

'But I'm not a celebrity.'

'Well, Daisy told me that you've been on TV. And as an animal behaviourist you'd have tremendous authority, plus, quite frankly-' she grimaced, '-don't take this the wrong way, but I'm desperate. Would you?' she pleaded.

'Well...'

'I just don't have time to ring round with everything else I've go to do, and in any case I know you'd be brilliant, Miranda, and it's in such a good cause.' That was true. 'I'd be so thrilled if you said yes,' she added.

Why not, I thought. 'What would you need me to do?'

'Judge three of the four different categories. We're going to have the Waggiest Tail, the Dog Most Like Its Owner, the Fancy Dress compet.i.tion, and finally, Canine Karaoke...' She handed me the cheque.

'Canine Karaoke?'

'Yes, it's a total scream. Literally,' she added with a meaningful grimace.

I smiled. 'All right then. Why not? But can I bring my dachshund?'

'Of course. Oh, thank you so much!' She exhaled, smiled broadly, then clapped her left hand to her chest. 'That's such a relief. It kicks off at two thirty and we're expecting a big crowd, so if you could come half an hour before that would be great.'

'Okay.' I stood up. 'Well, I'd better get going.' And I'd just picked up my bag when I heard the crunch of wheels on the drive.

'Oh, there's my husband. He said he'd be back early. Do come and meet him.'

As we walked down the steps, a dark blue Jaguar pulled up next to my old Astra, then Caroline's husband got out. Trigger and the two other dogs raced up to him, firing off a volley of excited barks. He bent down to stroke them, then straightened up. And as he did so, then walked towards us, I realized why it was that he'd looked so familiar. I felt as though I'd been pushed off a cliff.

'h.e.l.lo, darling,' he said to Caroline, kissing her as he glanced obliquely at me.

'James, this is Miranda Sweet.' Now he looked at me directly, with nothing more than polite curiosity, his face a pleasant, inscrutable mask. But in his grey eyes, unmistakably, was a spark of recognition. In that instant, sixteen years fell away.

'Miranda's just worked wonders with Trigger,' I heard Caroline say warmly. 'Now don't blush,' she laughed. 'It's quite true.' My face was aflame; but not out of modesty. 'Thanks to Miranda, I now know how to stop his bad behaviour, darling.'

'Really?' he said. 'Well, that's...great.'

'He's got a dominance problem, apparently,' she said with a giggle.

'Has he now?'

'He's got to have his status reduced.'

'I see.'

'We've got to make him feel less secure.'

'Is that so?'

'No more being top dog.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Well... I've got...another appointment to get to,' I lied, my heart banging so loudly I was afraid they could hear it. 'I'd better be on my way.'

'Thank you so much for coming out,' Caroline said, as I fumbled in my bag for my keys. 'So we'll see you on Sat.u.r.day, then?' I felt my insides twist. 'Miranda's going to judge the dog show for us, James. She's stepped in because Trinny and Susannah from What Not To Wear had to cancel. Isn't that nice of her?' Now I bitterly, bitterly regretted having agreed to do it.

'Oh... Yes,' he said with a thin smile. 'That's great.'

'About two o'clock, then,' Caroline repeated cheerily, as I got in my car. She waved at me; I gave her a feeble wave back, then, sick to my heart, I drove slowly away.

My hands trembled like winter leaves as they clutched the steering wheel. Jimmy. Jimmy Smith-not James Mulholland. He'd changed his name. As for his appearance-he was transformed. No wonder I hadn't recognized him in the wedding photo. I could have pa.s.sed him in the street and not known. The ma.s.s of blond curls and the light beard he'd had at twenty-one had gone, and he was now clean-shaven, receding, and grey. His frame had filled out, and the frayed jeans and jumpers had become Savile Row suits and striped shirts. Only the voice was the same: the smooth, pleasant voice, and the insolent expression in the pale granite eyes.

As I turned out of the gates, my heart still beating so erratically that I felt dizzy, I recalled Daisy's words: 'This is the start of a new phase in your life, and I just know it's going to be good.' But how could it be, I thought sourly-how could it be-when I'd just been ambushed by my past? And now I was oblivious to the colours of the landscape as I cast my mind back with a deep sense of shame.

It was half my lifetime ago, but it had remained seared on my mind like a brand. I still remembered every detail of that spring morning with photographic clarity, though as the years had gone by, I'd thought of it less. There was nothing I could do about it, and no-one I could tell; so I'd simply suppressed it, and tried to move on. The fact that I'd had to study so hard had helped in blocking out the pain-even so, it had haunted me for years, and still does. And, strangely, I'd been wondering about Jimmy recently, almost obsessively-and now, out of the blue, here he was. Here he was, the epitome, apparently, of affluent respectability. I laughed a bitter little laugh. As I drove through the grey terraces of North London, I wondered what he did. Probably something crooked, I reasoned-how else could he have become so rich? I thought about his wife, and wondered whether he'd ever confessed to her the awful thing that he-no, we-had once done.

When I got back to the Mews, Herman was happy to see me-I knew this because his whippety tail was wagging and he wasn't actively looking anxious. His pointy little face was in neutral gear. I took him out for his walk, and as we walked up the hill, stopping for the usual friendly exchanges with other dog-owners-'Ooh, look, a sausage dog!' 'Sweet!' 'Does he speak German?'-I decided what I would do. I'd ring Caroline and tell her that I was sorry, but I wouldn't be able to help with the fete after all. I hated letting her down, not least because I'd liked her, but there was now no way I'd be able to go. And as I unlocked the front door, trying to work out which of my three excuses-mum ill/dog ill/ car problems-would sound most convincing, I saw the light flashing on the answerphone. I pressed 'Play'.

'You have. Three. Messages,' intoned the robotic female voice. 'First message sent. Today at. Four. Forty-five. P.M.'

'h.e.l.lo, darling!' It was Mum. 'Just ringing for a chat. But don't ring me back as I'll be busy with the boys. I'll try you again later.' Click. Whirr. The machine spooled on. 'Hi, Miranda!' My heart sank. 'Caroline here. I just want to thank you again, for helping us out with the dog show-you've saved my bacon. But I also wanted to let you know that I've just told two of my friends that you're doing the judging, and they'd both heard of you, from Animal Crackers. So you shouldn't be so modest-you obviously are a bit of a celebrity. Anyway, we're all really looking forward to seeing you here on Sat.u.r.day. Bye for now!' Click. d.a.m.n. 'h.e.l.lo, Miss Sweet,' said a male voice. 'It's Detective Sergeant Cooper here.' Detective Sergeant? I panicked wildly for a split second, adrenaline flooding my veins, then remembered who he was and calmed down. 'Just to let you know we'll be sending you those forms I mentioned-I do apologize for the delay-you should get them by the end of the week.' Oh. Right. The forms. I'd completely forgotten.

'This is too much,' I muttered to Herman, as I opened the back door and let the early evening sunlight flood the kitchen. 'I've more than enough pain without this.' I sat down, and breathed very deeply to calm myself, but this only gave me a sharp twinge in my rib. Then I went to my computer, waited impatiently while it connected to the Net, and then typed 'James Mulholland' into Google. A whole slew of entries came up.

'Welcome to James Mulholland's Website,' I read. 'James Mulholland has been MP for Billington since May 1997...' Good G.o.d-he was an MP! I felt as though I'd been struck by lightning. At the top of the page I read, 'Links

Fighting for Billington

Billington Labour Party

News

James Mulholland was born in 1965 and was educated at Walton Comprehensive, Peterborough...'

As I read on my heart was racing-there was a photo of Jimmy, smiling smoothly. 'Click here to find out the latest on James Mulholland.' I clicked again.

'James Mulholland has been MP for Billington since 1997. During the 19972001 Parliament he was a member of the Education and Employment Committee and the Social Security Committee. He is now Minister of State for Education (Lifelong Learning).' Christ, he was a Junior Minister! My eyes skimmed down the page. 'Before going into politics, James was a local radio producer and reporter...' So that's what he'd done. 'He was educated at Walton Comprehensive, Peterborough and Suss.e.x University...where he gained a First in Biochemistry.' In 'real life', I read, 'James enjoys walking in the Hertfordshire countryside, and relaxing at home with his wife, Caroline, and their three dogs.'

But where did the amazing house come from? He'd been a journalist, not a banker, and MPs aren't loaded. I scrolled through the other entries-mostly promotional guff-then clicked on the Guardian Unlimited site. There was an anonymous profile. Ent.i.tled 'His Master's Voice', it wasn't exactly flattering.

'Son of an insurance salesman...early years provide little evidence of his later ambition... Walton Comprehensive, Peterborough... Suss.e.x University...1987 joined Radio York...in 1993 he interviewed Jack Straw...so impressed, he invited him to be his parliamentary researcher...quickly rose through the ranks. At 37, Mulholland is on the fast track...good looks, charm, communication skills..."on message"...journey from radical left to centre right. In 1995 Press spokesman to Alan Milburn, then selected to fight the safe seat of Billington in Lancashire... In the summer of 2000 married the Hon. Caroline Horbury, heir to the Horbury property fortune...' Ah. '...frequently entertain at their grand country pile...smart townhouse in Billington...elegant apartment in Westminster...he now puts her money where his mouth is...'

So that explained Little Gateley Manor. He hadn't made money-he'd married it. It all made sense. As for the journey 'from radical left to centre right'-that fitted too. I remembered again the Jimmy I'd known, and tried to square it with the suave pillar-of-the-establishment exterior I'd encountered today. I remembered too how charismatic I'd found him, and, ironically, how principled. That's what had drawn me to him-his pa.s.sionate beliefs. How misguided I was, I thought bitterly. What a dupe. And though I was only sixteen, and he was five years older, I was, at best, culpably naive. Now I wondered whether he'd ever felt the slightest pang of conscience about the terrible thing that he'd done.

I'd always known that he'd escaped prosecution, because if he'd been arrested he would have named me. I remembered his voice on that awful March morning, as I'd stood in his flat, hyperventilating from exertion-I'd run all the way-and from shock.

'I've just...found out,' I gasped. 'I've just found out.' I could feel my face twisting with rage. 'I overheard someone talking about it at the bus stop. How could you!!' I croaked, my throat aching. 'How could you! You...you...hypocrite.' I burst into tears.

He folded his arms, then turned and looked out of the window onto the street below. I could see a muscle in his jaw tense and flex. 'I should keep quiet if I were you,' he said.

I was amazed at his self-possession. 'Keep quiet?' I wept. 'Keep quiet?' I was crying so much that my ears hurt. 'No. I won't b.l.o.o.d.y well keep quiet! I'm going to tell everyone what you did!'

He turned and faced me. 'No, Miranda. What you did. It was you after all. Wasn't it?' he said quietly.

'No. It wasn't-because I didn't know.'

He gave me an indolent smile. 'The police won't care about a detail like that. In any case they've already got your number, Miranda. Haven't they? After your trip to the butchers a few months ago. And then there was your little adventure at the fur coat shop. They won't believe you. Will they?' I felt sick. 'In any case,' he went on smoothly. 'If you name me, I'll tell them that you did know. I'll say we did it together. So I really do suggest that it's in both our interests for you to keep your sweet little trap firmly shut. Unless you want to go to Holloway, of course.'

It was as though I'd been plunged into a bath of ice water, and I saw, with dreadful clarity, that he was right. So I did keep quiet-for sixteen years-to my shame, and never saw him again. Until today...

I lay on my bed for more than an hour-Herman lying beside me, like a tiny bolster-just staring through the skylight as the hot blue of the evening sky turned pink, then mauve, now deepening to liquid indigo, and a kind of plan began to form in my mind. I would go to Little Gateley this Sat.u.r.day-and I'd find some opportunity to speak to Jimmy alone. I'd quietly confront him and I'd get him to acknowledge me, and to admit-at last-that he'd done something terribly wrong. And I'd make him apologize to me, for what he did-because he'd damaged a part of my youth. G.o.d knows what other, physical, damage he'd caused, I thought bitterly. I'd never been brave enough to find out. And so, Alexander quite driven from my mind, I went to sleep, dreaming of fire.

CHAPTER 3.

The next day I was booked to see Lily Jago and her shih-tzu, Jennifer Aniston. I read the e-mail again. 'Not allowed to take her to work any more...she's clearly having a nervous breakdown...wreaking havoc at home...can't cope... Help!!!!' It sounded like a pretty straightforward case of separation anxiety. The appointment was at half past four. So I pushed away the negativity which had paralysed me for the previous twenty-four hours and forced myself to work. I spent the morning writing a flyer to send to local vets. I also called the Camden New Journal to see whether they might be interested in doing a short piece about me-anything to get the clients rolling in. I wrote my follow-up report to send to the Greens about their Irish setter, then Clare, the producer of Animal Crackers, rang. She wanted to arrange the next filming schedule and told me that the new series had just got a good advance preview in TV Life!. I went down to the shop and bought it, and there was a photo of the presenter, Kate Laurie, with a Shetland pony, and, inset, a small one of me.

We love our pets, but do we drive them crazy? it asked. That's what Kate Laurie will be finding out in the new series of Animal Crackers with help from our resident 'pet psychiatrist', Miranda Sweet. It had a five star rating and was described as 'compulsive viewing'. I felt pleased and relieved. I idly flicked through the rest of the magazine and suddenly saw Alexander's face. It loomed out of the 'Hot New Talent' slot on page eight. I caught my breath. He looked heartbreakingly handsome in his eighteenth-century naval uniform. Alexander Darke in the new swashbuckling drama, Land Ahoy!, announced the caption. A shard of gla.s.s pierced my heart.

Alexander Darke possesses a beguiling blend of old-fashioned charm and courtesy, the piece began. Unused to being interviewed, he responds to questions with polite enquiries of his own. But he will have to get used to the media spotlight, for, after twelve years of 'treading water more than boards', as he modestly puts it, Land Ahoy! is set to make him a star. It was obvious that the journalist had fancied him. She rhapsodized about his Byronic looks...like a young Richard Chamberlain, and his athletic physique. I felt another sharp pang. This gorgeous Darke horse seems inspired casting as the brave yet unemotional seafaring man, she gushed. Well, the 'Darke horse' part of it was certainly true. Land Ahoy!'s female lead is the luscious Tilly Bishop, 25, who recently starred in the hit romantic comedy, Reality Cheque. I felt sick.

By now it had gone three, so I settled Herman, and walked over the railway bridge to the tube. I got the train to Embankment, then another to Sloane Square, then strolled down the King's Road. Daisy had warned me what to expect about Lily Jago. 'She's a chronic drama queen,' she'd said. I knew that Lily was a fanatical animal lover because she'd recently got into trouble for refusing to employ a Korean girl on the basis that she came from a country where they eat dogs. Lily had been taken to a tribunal, the publishers of Moi! had been fined, and it had been splashed all over the press. She'd only kept her job because she'd lifted the magazine's circulation by fifty-six per cent in the previous year.

'Thank G.o.d you're here!' she breathed as she opened the front door of her flat in Glebe Place. There were feathers in her hair. 'It's been absolute h.e.l.l!' I went inside, and saw that the avian trail led all the way down the hall to the sitting room. 'Just look what the little monster has done!'

The shih-tzu sat on the sofa, amidst the wreckage of two eviscerated cushions, indignation and distress in her bulgy brown eyes.

'I came back ten minutes ago to find this, this...devastation!' Lily wailed. This wasn't really devastation. I've seen houses where the dog has shredded the wallpaper. 'The little vandal! I just don't know what to do!' I got Lily to calm down, then asked her when the problems had started.

'A month ago,' she replied. 'You see, Moi! was taken over,' she explained, as she lit a cheroot with a trembling hand. 'And the new proprietor won't allow animals at work. Not so much as a goldfish!' she added irritably. She tossed back her head and a twin plume of blue smoke streamed from her elegant nose. 'So I now have no option but to leave Jennifer at home. But the point is she's not used to it, because for the past two years she's always come in with me. For a while she was even editing her own section.'

'Really?'

'Yes. She had a dogs' beauty problem page. Anyway, she's obviously missing office life, so I suppose that's why she's being beastly.'

'I don't think that's it at all.'

'I think she's doing it to get back at me,' said Lily, her eyes narrowing as she drew on the cheroot again. 'For leaving her on her own.'

I sighed. This, sadly, is a common misconception. 'Miss Jago,' I began wearily.

She waved an elegant hand at me. 'Call me Lily.'

'Lily,' I tried again. 'Let me rea.s.sure you that dogs are quite incapable of forming the abstract concept of "revenge". This is a cla.s.sic case of separation anxiety. It's not that she's "missing the office", or "trying to get her own back". It's simply that being alone gives her terrible stress.'

'Well, she does have a walker who comes to take her out at lunchtimes, not least so that she can, you know-' Lily lowered her voice '-wash her hands.'