I sighed and walked back through the huge empty house, sauntering through the panelled rooms downstairs, familiarising myself with it again. My fingers trailed thoughtfully over the exquisite furniture in the drawing room. So many treasures here, lovingly collected over the years, really quality antiques. He had the most fantastic eye. I bent down to look more closely at a Georgian needlework table with intricate marquetry on its legs. It was no wonder, either, I thought, straightening up, that he got hardly any pa.s.sing trade. Some of these things were practically museum pieces, and presumably, with prices to match. I couldn't imagine anyone 'popping in' without having a coronary.

I wandered upstairs, prowling around the bedrooms with their four-posters, canopies and washstands, relishing the peace and quiet of this vast old house, where only the sound of ticking clocks prevailed. It made a welcome change, particularly after the melodrama at Netherby yesterday. As I completed my tour and sat down at the desk in the front hall, Rococo at my feet, thumping her tail on the floor, I realised what a relief it was to have time to collect my thoughts in this sanctuary. No children, no Fellowes. Except . I doodled on the pristine pad in front of me ... except that, sadly, my thoughts were full of foreboding.

I abandoned the doodle, and glanced up, staring into the mirror on the opposite wall. Being an ancient piece of gla.s.s it was pitted and blackened, so my reflection was muted, but there was no mistaking the worry in my eyes, the dark circles under them due to lack of sleep, and the lines around my mouth. I willed myself not to think about Rose and her accusations last night, about the cleft stick I'd forced myself into here. Swallowing hard, my hand moved towards the phone, and almost on an uncontrollable impulse, I found myself tapping out some familiar numbers. No one answered for ages. Then, just as I was about to put it down ...

'h.e.l.lo?'

'Hi, it's Lucy.' My voice cracked.

'Lucy! Well h.e.l.lo, stranger! We were beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you again. Thought you'd been spirited away by aliens.'

'Lucas, I'm so sorry.' Suddenly I knew I was on the verge of tears. 'I've been meaning to ring you and get you down here, it's just well, everything's been so hectic recently.'

I felt so ashamed. I'd spoken to them, of course, periodically, since I'd been here, but usually fleetingly. Always rushed off my feet, and needing to cut short their chatter, before charging off to do something else.

He laughed. 'I'm joking love, now don't you worry. Your mum and I said you'd be settling in, and that's always a difficult time.''How is Maisie?' I asked anxiously.

He hesitated. 'Not so good kiddo, actually. Her arthritis, you know. It's been playing up again. But she'll get there. No question about that, it's just the pain.'

My heart gave a palsied leap. 'She's in pain?'

'Oh no, not always,' he said hurriedly. 'Just when it's bad, you know. Sometimes in the evenings. Now Luce, you're not to worry.'

'Come this weekend,' I said desperately. 'Come and see us, Lucas. The boys would love it.'

'Ah, but it's the journey, you see, love. One position for that length of time, she couldn't do it'

'Oh!' My hand trembled on the receiver. 'Lucas, G.o.d, she is bad. Why didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't want to worry you. You've got enough on your plate at the moment, new house and all that, new schools for the boys.'

'But shouldn't you have some help? A nurse, or-'

'We've got a nurse, now,' he said quietly. 'Lives in, at the moment. Up in the top flat, the spare rooms.'

'Oh! When? You didn't tell me.'

'Only since a couple of days ago. And only for a bit, too. It's moving your mum around, you see. With my bad back, I can't always lift her, it's just an extra pair of hands we need. And it's just for a bit,' he repeated hastily. 'Just till she's over this bad patch'

'I'll come tomorrow,' I said, my mouth dry, hand gripping the receiver. bring the boys, I-'

'She'd hate that, love,' he interrupted. 'Please don't. She'd hate for you all to see her like this. Come in a week or two, when she's over the worst. When the drugs have really kicked in, which the doctor says they will. You know Maisie, that's how she'd want it. When she's up and about again, and not lying in bed like an invalid.'

I couldn't speak. My eyes filled with tears. I knew he was right, though. Maisie vibrant, lively, exotic Maisie, in her ethnic clothes and headbands and beads, with Max on her back, lampshades on her head, lying pale and drawn in bed. It would shock the boys, and she'd hate that.

'I'll come,' I said firmly. 'I'll come on my own.'

'No Lucy,' he said, equally firmly. 'Leave it a week or two, eh? We've managed so far, and we're coping well. Right now I don't want anything she doesn't want.'

I wondered, numbly, what he meant by that. She was so proud, we both knew that, but ...

'OK,' I whispered. 'But Lucas you'll let me know? Every day? You'll keep me informed, tell me the truth? I don't want any fobbing off.'

"Course I will, my duck!' He chortled, more brightly. 'But I promise you, it's nothing serious. Now listen, you give our love to those two young scallywags. Tell them to behave themselves, and we'll see them soon. Tell them we love them, too, eh?'

I couldn't speak for a minute. "Course I will,' I managed finally. 'Love to Maisie.'

I put the phone down. Then I put my head in my arms, and wept.

Maisie. My lovely Maisie. In pain. And I'd been up there, only yesterday, in London, could have gone to see her. But instead ... I squeezed my eyes tight, remembering. Ashamed.

And now I was being warned off, by Lucas. For the right reasons, I knew, but he wouldn't have been able to do that if I'd just pitched up at the door. And I knew too, why I'd rung them. Knew, subconsciously, that I'd wondered if I could go home. For ever. Scoop up my boys and head off to that safe place that was always there, to a mum and a dad who always had their arms open, where I could curl up in the foetal position, stick my thumb in my mouth and say, 'Nasty Rose has been horrid to me. Make the big bad world go away.' Give a tug on the umbilical cord, and let Lucas and Maisie reel me in. But there comes a time when we can no longer do that. When they need help as much as we do, more so. When the top floor is occupied by a stranger, with no room for me and the boys. A subtle moment in time, when the tables turn, and when the children become the protectors, not the protected. It seemed to me, that that highly significant moment had happened very recently ... and I'd missed it.

I thought with horror of a world without Lucas and Maisie. Tears of fear filled my eyes. I blinked them away, knowing it was unthinkable and couldn't happen, and that that way madness lay.

Instead, I seized the pad in front of me, and found a pencil. I quickly scribbled down how much money I had left from selling the flat in London. Then I wrote down, quite conservatively, how much I spent on food and groceries a week. Then I estimated how much the rental would be, on a small twobedroomed flat in, say, Clapham, or Wandsworth. Then I wondered about state schools in Clapham.

I sucked my pencil and stared into the mirror again. I saw a teeming cla.s.sroom of thirty children; Max, in the back row, ruling the roost, flicking a rubber, catapulting it towards the blackboard, the cla.s.s hooting with laughter, egging him on. I smiled. Then my mind roved to another cla.s.sroom, this time with Ben in it, not at the back, but at the front, a missile, sailing though the air, hitting him smack on the ear. As he turned, crimson-faced, the whole cla.s.s roared with laughter. I saw him later on, at the edge of a heaving playground, hating football, not joining in, scuffing his shoes in a corner, a book in his pocket. My clever, sensitive Ben ... I quickly wrote down two sets of private London school fees. My eyes boggled, and I scribbled it all out again, horrified.

I paused for a moment, then ripped the sheet out, scrumpled it up, and started again. I smoothed the new page out carefully with my hand. This time though, I thought, back at their old state school, in Chelsea. The one they knew, the one that Ben had just about survived, and with a flat - well, it would have to be close by, wouldn't it, or they wouldn't get in. Wouldn't be in the catchment area. So, how much would that cost? I wondered. And would Battersea count? I wrote down an optimistic figure. I could get a mortgage, of course, and I still had the capital from the old flat to put towards it, except - no, I didn't, I realised with a jolt. A lot of it had gone on paying debts, and I no longer had a full-time job to qualify for a mortgage, just two days a week here, so ... I got up quickly from the desk. Screwed the piece of paper into a ball, and threw it in the bin.

I paced about the room. Right. So I was snookered, wasn't I? She had me cornered, Rose, I mean, and there was precious little I could do about it. I'd sold myself, quite comprehensively, down the river, and now I was peering over the rapids. Icame to a halt at the mirror. Saw my frightened face. Oh, don't be so wet, Lucy, of course that's not so! Because it doesn't have to be London, does it? Flipping expensive London, or even crippling, fashionable Oxfordshire. How about somewhere a bit more reasonable? A bit more remote, a bit more far flung? How about - well, Norfolk, say? Or Wales? Suffolk perhaps. Suffolk's awfully pretty, with those lovely pink houses, and terribly cheap. Suffolk? My mind boggled. But I didn't know anyone in Suffolk. What, and start again? Again again? Having started here, so very recently? My heart was pounding as I walked to the window. Outside, it had started to rain.

'Buck up, Lucy,' I muttered, pressing my hot cheek to the splattered gla.s.s. 'It's not that bad. You're having a grotty day, that's all. And actually, it's no good chopping and changing locations, it would be so unsettling for the boys. Things will work out with Rose, you'll see. After all, it could be worse; couldn't it?' Could it? I wondered bleakly, plucking an old Barbour off the back of the door and clicking my tongue to Rococo. She leapt to her feet. Of course it could! You've got the boys, you've got a job, you've got a roof over your head, and right now you've got a diabetic dog who needs her urine tested in the pouring rain. So get out there, girl. Get testing.

'Come on, Rococo,' I muttered, striding purposefully out of the front door and pulling on the Barbour. 'Let's go. Let's get this show on the road. Get it over with.'

She perked up instantly, and followed me joyfully as I led her to a patch of gra.s.s under a convenient tree. I patted its fat trunk.

'This is a nice big smelly one, Rococo. Lovely tree. How about it, eh?'

She gazed at me quizzically, head on one side, wagging slowly.

'Atta-girl. Here, sniff.' I sniffed the bark. Shut my eyes. 'Mmmmm!'

She regarded me a moment, then suddenly turned her back, and bounded off down the garden.

'Oh! No wait!'

I dashed after her, but she was out of sight. By the time I reached her, she was in the depths of the shrubbery, at the bottom of the garden, grinning widely, tongue lolling. d.a.m.n. Had she had a quick one while I wasn't watching? Why hadn't I put her on a lead? I sniffed the rhododendrons anxiously, looking for a tell-tale wet patch, but it was raining hard now so it was impossible to tell.

'Oh, Rococo, have you? Where ... here? Over here?' I scanned the wet leaves for a puddle, crouching down, sniffing, and wondering what on earth I was doing, sniffing ruddy leaves? Well, Rococo clearly thought I was playing. She sprang gleefully onto my hunched back, nearly knocking me over. I gasped, just about saved myself from nose-diving the wet ground, then shook her off angrily.

'Down, girl. Down!'

But Rococo was enjoying herself, and had her front paws up on my shoulders now, dancing cheek to cheek.

'Down, d.a.m.n you!' I shoved her off.

I was cross, and she didn't like that. Didn't like my tone of voice. She glared at me. Christ, she was big, I thought nervously.

'Yes, yes, lovely game, darling,' I soothed, 'but the thing is ...' Suddenly I had an idea. Over by the stables, in the yard, I spotted a tap.'Quick, Rococo come!'

Joyfully she bounded after me. I hastened across the garden, into the yard, and turned the tap on full blast. Rococo backed away, astonished at the torrent splashing on the cobbles. I turned it down, right down, to a tiny trickle. She gazed at it for a moment, head on one side, ears c.o.c.ked. Then lo and behold, she turned, sauntered languorously across to a patch of gra.s.s, lowered her hindquarters and... ahhh ... I beamed.

Oh G.o.d, the syringe! I was so delighted and transfixed and it was inside! I'd forgotten to bring it out. I looked around wildly. A flower-pot, perfect. I ran across to a tottering paG.o.da, seized the top one happily no hole in the bottom ran back, and shoved it underneath. Yesss. Oh joy. I crouched down, beaming. Oh deep, deep joy. The obliging Rococo was filling it to the top (over-filling it actually, this girl could fill a swimming pool) and then, relieved, was straightening up and wandering off to inspect the stables. Perfect. Now all I had to do was take it up to the house and hang on. I froze as I reached for it. Golly. Was that a car? On the gravel?

I picked up the pot and carrying it carefully, crept around the side of the house, realising, with a pang of horror, that I'd left the front door open. Oh G.o.d, what if it was a customer? I peered. It was! There was a car in the drive. With no one in it. I wondered, briefly, if I should make for the back door, and intercept whoever it was in the hall, breeze in with a musical, 'h.e.l.lo, can I help you?' But suppose the back door was locked? d.a.m.n. I had no choice. I took a deep breath, strolled nonchalantly round the front, and as I did so, realised that actually, I recognised the car. I stopped. Glanced to the porch, where oh! Oh the relief. Instead of a clutch of indignant j.a.panese tourists wondering where the h.e.l.l the patron was, or a matching pair of Americans in Burberry macs there stood a familiar figure.

Leaning against the porch, in a way I'd come to know and love, one foot propped up against the wall, smiling that lovely, s.e.xy, tigerish smile that made his face crease up and his eyes slant, was Charlie.

'Charlie! How did you-'

'Know you were here?' He grinned. Unpropped himself and sauntered over to meet me, hands in pockets. 'Well, I was all present and correct at your initial interview, if you remember. Had a pretty good idea I'd find you here today, although I must say, I was surprised to find the door open. Thought maybe you'd done a bunk already.'

'No. No, I had to pop out for a moment, but oh, I'm so pleased it's you. Oh Charlie, it's so lovely to see you!'

I couldn't help it. I knew it wasn't cool, but it was. So lovely. It seemed to me that in that one moment, all the horrors of yesterday Rose, Netherby, and all my angst about the future the boys, money, schools just melted away. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. It had all been put into perspective by this one man. This one, lovely man, who sought me out wherever I was, at a moment's notice, and who'd come to find me now, in my darkest hour. As long as I had his love, which I clearly did, I could well I could move mountains. I smiled, basking contentedly in his warm, appreciative gaze. His eyes seemed to smoulder with desire.

'Poor Lucy, I can't seem to leave you alone, can I?' he whispered.

'Which is fine by me,' I whispered back. I put the pot down, and in a moment, was in his arms, lost in an endless embrace, as one sweet kiss unfolded after another.

When we finally parted, he glanced down. 'What's that?' 'Oh,' I murmured, still gazing up, mesmerised by his deep, chocolatey eyes. 'Just a urine sample.'

'Oh' He looked surprised.

I smiled. 'I'll get rid of it. Come on, come in. I'm sure you're allowed in. You are, after all, a friend of Kit's and I am, after all, supposed to be working. I'm slightly nervous about being caught snogging in the garden!'

I picked up the br.i.m.m.i.n.g pot and he followed me. 'That's very impressive,' he said, eyeing it nervously.

'What? Oh, yes. Went on for ever. Can't wait to wash my - hands, actually.'

'Urn,' he looked uncomfortable. 'Cyst.i.tis?'

'Oh no, diabetes.'

'Golly! Poor you' He looked startled.

'Yes, such a pain. Has to be done three times a day.' 'Right' He swallowed. 'And always ... alfresco?' 'Sorry?'

'D'you always do it outside? In a flower-pot?' He gestured towards it nervously.

'Well, she'd make a terrible mess inside, Charlie!' I laughed.

'She?'

'Rococo. The dog'

I frowned. 'What did you-'

'No, no! Nothing,' he interposed, beaming. Looked strangely relieved, actually. 'Excellent. No, excellent news.' He strode on and flung the door open for me with a flourish. 'Now. Shall we?'

Chapter Nineteen.

'So.'

'So.'

'An empty house' He rolled his eyes dramatically.

I giggled. 'An empty shop, Charlie, and not so fast. I am not ending up in a broom cupboard again!'

'Quite right,' he grinned. 'And humble apologies for my loutish behaviour yesterday. Desire definitely got the better of me, I'm afraid all your fault for being so captivatingly attractive and inflaming me like that but I do promise to be a model of self-restraint today. Scout's honour. In fact, I shall be a perfect gentleman starting with d.a.m.n!' He banged his forehead with the heel of his hand. 'Left them in the car.'

'What?'

But he'd already beetled outside, to return a moment later, beaming from ear to ear and bearing a huge bunch of lilies and a bag of Danish pastries.

'For you.'

'Oooh, my favourites,' I said greedily, peering into the bag. 'Yum. And I'll put these in water.' I seized the lilies, joyfully.

really can't remember the last time someone bought me flowers.'

'Rubbish, I don't believe that for one minute,' he said, settling down in one of Kit's squashy sofas and spreading his arms along the back. 'In fact, I'm more inclined to believe you've got a whole host of admirers you keep very quiet about. Anyway, a small token of my affection, and part of my new resolution to treat you with the utmost respect and not leap on you and kiss the life out of you the moment I see you, which frankly is what I feel like doing right now. See how I'm resisting manfully, though? See?' He waggled his hands.

'Angelic,' I agreed, shaking the pastries onto a pretty Chinese plate, 'and quite right, too. There's more to getting to know each other than just falling into bed, you know, Charlie,' I said sternly, turning round to put the kettle on.

'Except, of course, that we haven't even done that yet,' he sighed wistfully. 'Fallen into bed, I mean, so please don't talk about it, or I shall become inflamed all over again and have to sit on my hands, which is a shame because I really want one of those cakes. Unless of course, you'd secretly like me to leap the coffee-table and ravish you over the Georgian chaise, in which case I'll happily forgo the Danish.'

I giggled and sat demurely opposite him, determined this would not dissolve into a tussle.

Tor your information, the chaise is reserved for a rich Brigadier down the road, who's having a good old dither, but could walk in at any minute and claim it. I'm not convinced being draped stark naked across it would improve my sales patter.'

He groaned. 'You see? You're at it again! Talking dirty isnot designed to make me behave myself, Lucy.' He got to his feet and thrust his hands deep in his pockets, jingling his change. 'In fact, I shall have to come round to your sofa now and make you see reason, and it's all your fault'

'Sit!' I commanded, spraying crumbs everywhere. 'No, Charlie, I absolutely forbid it. I insist we keep this table between us, in fact - you stay there while I make the coffee.' I jumped up, thus neatly avoiding him as the kettle boiled. 'I'm at work, for heaven's sake, and you can jolly well behave. I want to talk to you, find out more about you, that kind of thing'

'Ah me,' he sighed, and obediently flopped down into his sofa again, raising his eyes to the ceiling. 'I shall just have to think hard about the Euro or something, or maybe the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself. Something terribly dry, whilst my eyes, of course, feast on your delicious derriere as you pour out the coffee' He waggled his eyebrows up and down.

I glanced back. 'My son says this skirt is too tight for me. Says I should stick to frocks. I think he means maternity smocks'