"Nathan-"

Caitlin started to speak, but before she could say anything she might have regretted later, Mrs Spriggs appeared in the open doorway. "That's it, Mrs Wolfe," she said, offering Nathan a nervous smile. "I've finished the bedrooms. I'll come back tomorrow and do the laundry."

"Thanks."

Caitlin was grateful. She had never had any cause to doubt Mrs Spriggs's word. From time to time, Nathan had complained that she got in his way, or that she didn't iron his shirts as well as he was used to, but most of the time they kept out of each other's way.

Aware of this, she glanced somewhat awkwardly towards Nathan, and as if sensing his presence was surplus to requirements, he brushed past the daily woman and left the room. He didn't even take the cup of coffee she'd poured for him, and presently she heard the outer door of the flat slam.

Immediately, she wanted to go after him. She was terrified of what might happen to him out in the street. But although her hands clenched tightly on the marble worktop, she forced herself to remain where she was.

"Gone out, has he?" inquired Mrs Spriggs in a return to her usual garrulous fashion. Caitlin's father had always said that his daughter allowed the daily woman too many liberties, but there'd been times when she'd welcomed her friendly chatter.

"It looks like it," Caitlin answered now, pushing the newly made pot of tea towards her. And then, because she needed any reassurance, however specious, she added, "D'you think he'll remember where he lives, or ought I to follow him, Mrs Spriggs?"

"Well..." Mrs Spriggs evidently welcomed the opportunity to offer an opinion. "I dare say he can ask somebody else if he gets lost. I shouldn't worry about him, Mrs Wolfe. He's not a baby." She pulled a wry face. "As a matter of fact, he seemed-well, rather competent to me."

"Mmm."

Caitlin wished she felt more confident about his actions, but at least it seemed that Nathan had been civil to Mrs Spriggs. He had been known to swear at her on occasion, particularly if he had a hangover and she started hoovering the floor.

"How-er-how long is it likely to take?" the woman was asking now, and Caitlin didn't pretend not to understand what she meant.

"I wish I knew," she said. "Apparently, there are no hard-and-fast rules about amnesia. No one seems to know exactly how long it may last." She shrugged. "We can only hope for the best."

"I see." Mrs Spriggs nodded. "The best being that-er- Mr Wolfe recovers his memory?" she added curiously, and Caitlin frowned.

"Of course."

"Of course." Mrs Spriggs looked a little discomforted. "But I have to say, he seems-very nice as he is."

Caitlin couldn't prevent a rueful smile. She knew exactly what Mrs Spriggs meant. It would be nice to think that Nathan wouldn't change when he recovered his memory, but she was realistic enough to know that miracles didn't happen.

"I suppose he's just trying to find his feet," she offered neutrally, wondering how much Mrs Spriggs really knew. She had to have her own opinion as to why they had separate bedrooms. And Nathan had been known to speak carelessly in the past.

The sudden ringing of the phone gave her a welcome excuse to abandon their conversation. Excusing herself to the daily woman, she went to answer the call in the other room. But when she picked up the receiver, no one answered. It was obviously a wrong number, she thought, because when she gave her name, the call was immediately disconnected.

She sighed, wishing Nathan hadn't left the flat without telling her where he was going. How dependable was his independence if he didn't recognise the flat? It was just as well the call hadn't been from her father, she mused ruefully. She could imagine his impatience if he called and Nathan wasn't there.

As if the thought was father to the deed, the phone rang again right beside her. And this time when she picked it up, it was her father. The bell had jangled her nerves, and she collapsed into the chair beside the phone rather wearily. She could have done without Matthew Webster's intervention right at this moment.

"Cat?" he demanded, as if her voice wasn't perfectly familiar to him. "Where've you been?"

"Well, I have just got back from New York," she replied tersely, aware of the deliberate irony. "And yes, I had a good journey, before you ask."

"Don't be clever with me, Cat." Her father had never had much of a sense of humour, and she could tell by his tone that he was not in the mood for whimsy now. "I know where you've been and I know what time your flight landed. What I want to know is why you haven't rung me before this."

Why, indeed!

Caitlin rested her head back against the soft velour of the chair's headrest and closed her eyes. "I haven't had the chance," she said at last, recognising that for the prevarication it was. "We haven't been back that long, and I had things to do-"

"Yes, you did," said Matthew Webster sternly. "You had to ring me. You must have known I'd be concerned about you, Cat." He paused. "So-how is the invalid? Has he remembered who he is yet?"

"No."

Caitlin opened her eyes, finding herself resentful of that particular tone in her father's voice. Whilst she might have had her doubts, she found she objected to anyone else being suspicious of her husband. Besides, why should her father think he might be lying? So far as she was aware, he had supported Nathan in everything he'd done.

"I see." Matthew Webster sounded thoughtful now. "Well-why don't you put him on the line? Perhaps I can jog his memory. I know what women are like. They avoid plain speaking if they can."

How would you know? thought Caitlin indignantly, aware suddenly that the amicability of her present relationship with her father was just a veneer. Oh, she still loved him and she had no doubt he loved her in his own way. But she hadn't forgotten his disparagement of her abilities, and at times like this, the cracks began to show.

Now she felt a certain amount of satisfaction in saying, "He's not here." She knew, better than anyone, how much her father liked to get his own way. But in this instance, he was bound to be disappointed. She could even have said that Nathan didn't care.

"What do you mean, he's not there?"

Her father's response was just as aggravated as she had expected, and having a belated care for his blood pressure, she attempted to calm him down. "He's gone for a walk," she said, although she didn't honestly know what Nathan was doing. "This has been a difficult time for him, Dad. Just give him a little breathing space."

The silence that followed was decidedly hostile. She could hear her father's laboured breathing and knew he was having quite a job controlling his temper. Whatever sympathy he might have had for Nathan's condition was being sorely tested, and knowing him as she did, she guessed he was resenting putting his faith in a man who had let him down.

"When will he be back?" he demanded at last, and Caitlin considered before answering.

"I don't know," she said. "Probably not long."

"Well, where's he gone?" exclaimed her father, losing his personal battle. "For God's sake, Cat, I thought the fellow was sick!"

"Not sick-just suffering from amnesia." Caitlin wondered why she was bothering to defend Nathan. It wasn't as if he would thank her for it. "And I'm afraid I don't know where he's gone. He didn't give me an itinerary before he left."

Her father snorted. "I've told you, don't take that tone with me, young woman. I'm not the one who's allowed someone who apparently can't even remember his own name to go wandering all over London." He bit off an expletive. "Have you no sense? What if he gets lost?"

Caitlin sighed. "He's not stupid, Daddy." She straightened her spine. "And if you must know, I didn't 'allow' him to do anything. He doesn't need my permission to go out. I doubt if I could have stopped him, even if I'd wanted to."

"What do you mean by that?" Matthew Webster sounded suspicious now. "Have you two been having a row? If you have, I want to know about it."

"Oh, no." Caitlin knew she couldn't allow him to think that. "He's just-upset, that's all. Impatient. I expect he finds the situation frustrating. He can't even remember the flat."

"Hmm, well..." Her father seemed to be considering her answer. "Well, I don't know how he feels, do I? I haven't had a chance to find out. But I suppose I can wait until later, if I have to. And we'll be seeing you on Friday at the house."

Caitlin's throat dried. "Will you?"

"Of course." Her father gave a peevish exclamation. "Naturally, your mother and I are expecting you and Nathan to join us for the weekend. It's been far too long since you both spent any time at Fairings. And it will give me a chance to assess Nathan's condition for myself."

To see if he's lying, thought Caitlin drily, but she didn't say it. "Oh-Daddy," she said instead, wishing she had a reasonable excuse to give him. "I don't think Nathan will want to go away again. He's just got home."

"Don't you think you're being rather selfish, Cat?" her father asked abruptly. "Surely you can understand our feelings just this once. You're our daughter, for heaven's sake, and Nathan's our son-in-law. Naturally, we feel we have the right to welcome him back."

Caitlin stifled a groan. "All right," she said resignedly. "I'll-see what he says." She bit her lip. "But I don't intend to browbeat him into accepting. He needs to take things slowly. That's what his American doctor said."

"Did he?" The sarcasm in her father's voice resurfaced. "And I suppose that's why he's gone out without an escort, is it?"

"No."

Caitlin wondered if it was only her imagination, or was the criticism being levelled at Nathan as well as herself? After all, her father had never had much patience with illness. In his own case, he'd been desperate to get back to work.

"So-providing he finds his way home again, we can expect you on Friday afternoon, can we?" her father continued when it became obvious that Caitlin had nothing more to add, and she lifted her hand in a gesture of defeat only she could see.

"Why not?" she agreed tersely. "I'm sure Janie won't mind covering for me again." That was a deliberate provocation. She had no real idea when she'd be returning to the antique shop. She pressed her lips together. "Is that all?"

"Not quite." Her father snapped out the words. "You know very well you can't consider going back to work while-while Nathan is in his present state. Why-why anything could happen. And I'm not paying for a full-time nurse to take care of him."

"No one's asking you to," retorted Caitlin indignantly. "And I've told you-Nathan's not answerable to me. He's proved that by-" She broke off, and then continued rather more evenly. "I can't be expected to mollycoddle him, Daddy. He does have a mind of his own."

"Does he?"

Her father didn't sound convinced, but Caitlin eventually made some excuse about Mrs Spriggs calling her and hung up. She knew if she stayed on the line any longer, she might be tempted to reveal the truth about her marriage, and that would never do. Besides, they seldom talked about personal things, which generally suited her very well. It was only now, with the whole fabric of her world in tatters, that she wished she had someone she could talk to.

If only she and her mother had had a close relationship. But from the very beginning, Caitlin had wanted to follow in her father's footsteps, and by the time she was married to Nathan, it was too late to change her ways. Besides, Daisy Webster had always had a soft spot for her son-in-law, and Caitlin had known she couldn't confide her problems to her.

She was still sitting dejectedly by the phone, her mug of coffee cooling in her hand, when Mrs Spriggs came to tell her she was leaving. "I've left the coffee on the hob," she said, "just in case Mr Wolfe wants a cup when he gets back." She hesitated. "I-I shouldn't worry about him, if I was you, dear. He'll find his way back. And our Wayne could always go and look for him. He's got nothing better to do."

Caitlin doubted Wayne Spriggs would appreciate being volunteered so arbitrarily. In her opinion, the daily woman's son seemed quite happy doing nothing at all. If he wasn't down at the dog track, he was in the pub or sprawled in front of the telly playing computer games.

But she thanked Mrs Spriggs for the offer, and after the woman had gone, she went to pour the rest of her coffee into the sink. Alone now, she was becoming increasingly anxious. Her father was right: she shouldn't have let Nathan go out alone.

Yet, she had to admit that in the past she'd been happiest when he was out of the flat. She'd been glad when he'd just used it as a place to shower and change his clothes. He'd spent most of his time with Lisa Abbott, she reflected, trying to drum up her usual resentment. But unless the other woman had been waiting outside, he couldn't be with her now.

Which is what made the present situation so disturbing. If only Mrs Spriggs hadn't interrupted them, they might have made some headway after all. Though she'd been grateful enough for the daily woman's arrival when he'd had her imprisoned in the bedroom, and the frustration he'd exhibited later had hardly augured well for a breakthrough in their relationship.

She decided to ring Janie Spencer. She'd only spoken to her friend once since she'd left for the States, and that was over two weeks ago. Janie deserved to know what was happening and when she might expect some assistance at the shop.

The phone rang for some time before Janie answered, and when she discovered who was calling, her relief was at once evident. "Hey, am I glad to hear from you," she exclaimed as soon as she had assured herself that Caitlin was back in England. "You don't know how much I've missed you. When are you coming back to work?"

Caitlin sighed. "I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" Janie uttered a little gasp. "But I thought you told me Nathan wasn't seriously hurt. I assumed, now that you're back in London, that there wasn't any problem. Don't tell me he needs nursing. I need you at the shop."

Caitlin hesitated. "It's not that simple." She wished now she'd been more forthcoming when she'd spoken to Janie from her hotel in New York. "Nathan-Nathan's not ill exactly, but he-well, he's lost his memory. He doesn't remember anything that happened before the crash."

Janie's breath gushed out in a low whistle. "You're kidding!"

"No, I'm not." Caitlin wished she were. "I didn't tell you before, because it could have been a temporary condition. Well, we hope it will be a temporary condition," she added swiftly. "But he hasn't recovered his memory yet."

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean, am I sure?"

"Well..." Janie was sardonic. "How do you really know he's amnesiac? It could be just an act."

"And what would he have to gain by it?" protested Caitlin, realising that once again she was defending him. "Janie, believe me, he's not acting. He hates the uncertainty as much as I do."

"Huh." Janie didn't sound convinced, but she quickly got the underlying message. "So-you're saying you can't leave him on his own, is that it? Oh, Cat! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." That was the truth. "It-it may be that I'll be able to come back soon. It-depends what Nathan wants to do."

"That sleaze!" Janie had no time for Caitlin's husband. "Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for him. If you ask me, it serves him right. And maybe if he stays that way, you'll find it an advantage. Your father can't expect you to stay married to someone who doesn't remember who you are."

"Janie!"

"Well..." Janie snorted. "He's made your life a misery long enough. It's time you finished with him and started having some fun. You're nearly thirty, Cat. The old biological clock is still ticking."

"I know." Caitlin was defensive for herself now. "But I can't walk out on him just like that. Besides, he's changed, Janie. I can't explain, but he's different. He'd not half as-well, disagreeable-as he used to be before."

"Oh, please!" Janie's voice rose an octave. "You're not telling me you're having second thoughts about leaving him, Cat, surely? Oh, I can see he needs you right at the moment. But he's just using you, for all that. God knows, if I had the things on my conscience that he has on his, I'd probably wish I could lose my memory, too."

"Janie!"

"Don't Janie me, Cat. Characters are formed in childhood, you know that. People don't change. They can't."

"All the same-"

"You know that old saying about a leopard not being able to change his spots. Well, it's true. Once a sleaze, always a sleaze, Caitlin. You'll regret it if you forget it now."

"All right."

Caitlin wished they were not having this conversation, but Janie wasn't finished yet. "What about Lisa Abbott?" she asked. "Or was she just a figment of your imagination? Have you forgotten how he hurt you? Don't let him hurt you again."

"I won't." Caitlin caught her lip between her teeth, wondering whether there was any point in saying anything more. Janie was a good friend and she meant well, but she didn't understand the situation. "He doesn't remember anything," she reminded her. "And I'm certainly not going to bring it up."

"There'll be someone else," declared Janie indifferently. "Sooner or later, we'll have this conversation again. I'm just thinking of you, Cat. I'm very fond of you. I don't want you making a fool of yourself over a man who doesn't care."

Caitlin shook her head. "Just because I'm feeling sorry for him doesn't mean I'm going to fall into bed with him," she exclaimed irritably, ignoring the sudden quiver that shook her stomach. "But you must see how it is. He-he's depending on me. Until he knows what he's doing, I can't abandon him."

"Oh, he knows what he's doing," replied Janie unsympathetically. "Whether he's lost his memory or not, men know exactly how to behave to get what they want. He needs you-ergo, he's playing the nice guy. But as soon as he finds his feet, you'll see I'm right."

"Well, I'll deal with that when-if-it happens," said Caitlin, eager now to get off the line. Janie's warnings had struck far too close to home for comfort, and the truth of the matter was, she didn't want to know.

8.

Fletch sat alone in a corner booth in Casey's bar and stared broodingly at the row of empty beer bottles lined up on the table in front of him. He hadn't intended to drink so much. He'd just called in for a beer on his way home from the pool hall, but his mood was blacker than a witch's tit, and he'd needed some consolation. Dammit, he deserved some creature comforts, he told himself indignantly. Outside of getting drunk, he didn't have much in his life.

The trouble was, nobody cared about him. Four daughters, he brooded, and not one of them gave a shit for their old man. If it wasn't for his grandchildren, he wouldn't know what they were up to. And the kids just came around when they were broke.