Blackbird quickly settled on a shepherd's pie and I chose steak. We ordered the local brew and the landlord pulled us two pints of fragrant dark beer before taking our food order through to the kitchen. We took our drinks to a table away from the noise of the other customers.

The foam of the beer made a moustache across my upper lip, which amused Blackbird. I felt a little awkward after the discussion about the room. Did that mean we were spending the night together or was it that she didn't trust me to spend a night alone without getting into some sort of trouble? We were safe here, weren't we? No one but the Highsmiths knew we were here. "A pigeon for your thoughts," she offered.

"It's a penny, a penny for your thoughts. "

"Not where I come from," she grinned.

I smiled in response and shook my head. "I don't think I'm thinking clearly enough to translate my thoughts into anything worthy of a pigeon. "

"It's certainly been a full day," she admitted, resting back against the padding of the bench seat. "I'm glad we came here, rather than trying to stay at the farm. "

"I think Mrs Highsmith would have found that difficult. They are a lot like the people from where I grew up, in Kent. It's the same sort of countryside, similar background. The people keep to themselves, not trusting outsiders. "

"The Highsmiths are good people."

"Yes, Jeff will have some explaining to do when this is over, don't you think?"

"That might be a conversation to stay clear of. Do you think they'll be able to do it, in one night?"

"We have to trust them to do their part. I don't know anyone else who can do this for us, do you? "

"No."

"Then we just have to a.s.sume they can and they will. We won't know until tomorrow in any case." We lapsed into silence, the boisterous noise from the group of friends filling the room.

"So tell me what it was like, growing up in Kent?" she asked.

It was a neutral topic, away from the trials that tomorrow might bring, so I told her about the village in Kent where people from ten miles away were considered foreigners and everyone knew everyone else's business. She was a good listener and I found myself talking about favourite pets, long departed, and running wild across the countryside with a gang of similarly unkempt children. I told her about making arrows from bamboo sticks filched from the potting shed and bows from willow branches and how we had shot the arrows as far as they would go, just for the fun of running after them and seeing where they landed.

"It wasn't a safe childhood," I told her, "but it was adventurous. I went weir riding, just the once. The kids that I hung out with had all done it and they dared me. They would get a fertilizer bag and hang off the bridge on the upstream side and then drop and ride the millrace down into the pool at the bottom. "

"I thought you said you couldn't swim."

"I can't. And after that I didn't want to. I had this idea that I could grab the bridge on the other side as I pa.s.sed and climb up. The mill-race was covered in slippery weed and when the moment came I couldn't reach and it swept me down into the roiling water at the bottom. I was pulled under, into the churning river, deep into the hole carved out by the tumbling water, turning and twisting. My lungs burned while I thrashed about, unable to tell which way was up. "

"How did you get out?"

"My friend Rich jumped in after me. I nearly drowned him as well, but he fought me off and caught hold of my shirt and dragged me to the bank. I owe him my life for that, I would have drowned. I still don't like water, even now. "

"Are you still in contact with him?"

"No, I lost touch with him when I went to university and he went to work on his father's farm."

"You should send him a postcard or something," she suggested.

"Dear Rich, still out of my depth here in the land of 'you wouldn't believe'. Having a lovely time. Wish you were here."

Her smile vanished at my words.

"I'm sorry, that sounded bitter and I didn't mean it to."

"That's fine. You're ent.i.tled to a bit of cynicism from

time to time."

"Am I?"

I was rescued by the food arriving. We tucked into it and there was silence for a while, punctuated by appreciative grunts from me as I found the steak both large and juicy and the chips freshly cooked. We were both taxed by the day, but the combination of good food and decent beer helped us to recover both physically and emotionally. I finished my steak while Blackbird was still eating, so I told her about my job and projects I had worked on. I ordered another pint while she finished her food and then she told me about life in the university. She described her students, the hopefuls and the wastrels, the ones she knew would pa.s.s and the ones that would certainly fail. She parodied her academic colleagues with their pet theories and rivalry, their affairs and indiscretions. Eventually the bar was all but empty.

"Your room is ready any time you are," the landlord hinted gently.

We thanked him and he cleared up the gla.s.ses while we got ourselves together.

"Do you need help with your bags?" he asked.

"No, thanks," I told him. "We're travelling light."

That raised an eyebrow, but he made no comment and led us behind the bar and up a back stairway. From there we were taken past living rooms to another stairway and a door that opened into a converted loft-s.p.a.ce. "This was originally going to be our bedroom, but by the time it was finished my son had gone to college and there's only me and the missus. It's used as a guest room, now. There's an en-suite through that door, there. There are toiletries that you're welcome to use and plenty of hot water, just help yourselves. Breakfast is any time after eight. Anything else I can get you? "

"No, thank you," said Blackbird. "It's great, really. "

"I'll leave you to your rest then." He turned and left, closing the door after him and we heard his steps as he retreated down the wooden stairway.

"Heads or tails for first shower," she asked me.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the effects of the beer.

"You have it. "

"Sure?"

I nodded and she slipped into the bathroom, followed not long after by the sound of running water. I sat on the edge of the bed, finding it pleasantly firm. I took my trainers off, then lay back on the bed and waited for Blackbird to finish in the shower. It crossed my mind that I could have phoned Katherine as the pub would have a public telephone, but it was too late to do that now. Then it occurred to me that I didn't need a phone, I could find her through the mirror over the dresser if I wanted to. That would be like spying on her, though, and besides it would involve moving from the bed.

A second later, Blackbird was shaking me. "Are you going to sleep like that or are you getting a shower first?"

I groaned, realising I had been dozing, forced myself into an upright position and sat, rubbing my eyes. Blackbird was wrapped in a large bath towel, pinkskinned and combing her fingers through her hair. "Shower?" she prompted me.

I stumbled to my feet and went into the bathroom. It had no windows, just an extractor fan high up on the wall. One corner was given over to a shower enclosure. I stripped off my clothes, hung them on the back of the door and climbed into the cubicle.

The water was initially cool, but warmed quickly so I had to turn it down. How hot had she had it? It reached a comfortable temperature and I stood under the shower head letting the water run down over my eyes, my face and down my body. I was dog-tired, but the shower was a good idea. I used the soap provided and scrubbed myself from head to toe.

Once out of the shower, I wrapped my damp towel around my waist and looked at my reflection. It didn't look like me, but that was OK. My glamour had held and I had become accustomed to my new face. Is that what she'd meant by the side-effects?

Taking her advice about maintaining my image, I took advantage of a disposable razor to sc.r.a.pe the dark shadow from my chin. I was conscious of the woman in the room next door and I felt I should at least be presentable. I had no idea what she was expecting, but having a chin like sandpaper wasn't going to impress. I splashed my face with cold water and dried it on the hand towel. Looking up in the mirror I looked tired but scrubbed, which was probably as good as I was going to get. I considered putting my underwear back on, but then rejected it having just got myself clean. Instead, towel secured around my waist, I took my clothes back into the bedroom.

Blackbird was sitting propped up on the pillows, her bare shoulders showing above the duvet. Her hair was dry.

"Where's the hair dryer?" I asked her.