Sophie processed that bit of information. A man who leaves his wife with a newborn baby didn't seem the type to devote his life to a children's charity. Probably, she decided, it was the guilt, but being a coward as well as a bastard, he had tried to salve that guilt a few thousand miles away instead of facing up to what he had done at home.

"And it's definitely him?" she said.

"Definitely," Maria said firmly.

"Thank you, thank you, Maria."

"I want payment by overnight mail," Maria said, and she hung up.

Sophie put the phone down and looked out the kitchen window, to where Artemis sat on the top edge of the neighbor's fence, poised to eviscerate the next passing vole or other unfortunate mammal. Sophie ran her palms over her cheeks and crossed her arms under her breasts.

So Maria had found him, and now she had to think about what that was going to mean. Two weeks ago Sophie could not have thought of anything beyond finding Louis. Now she realized she had to; his return would have consequences for everyone involved. She thought of the expression on Mrs. Stile's face when she had mentioned Louis. She thought of Carrie alone with her children, too proud or embarrassed or maybe too distant to tell her that Louis had gone.

Sophie hadn't considered the consequences for anybody besides herself. It was very likely now that she had found Louis that her life would improve and the burden of the children would pass from her to him, which after all was only right. But what if his coming back wasn't the best thing for the girls?

Two weeks ago, Sophie wouldn't have thought twice about dialing that number and getting Louis back here as fast as humanly possible. But in the fourteen days that had passed since Maria's first phone call, something had changed. Something that Sophie could hardly put her finger on until that moment.

She realized she had actually started to care for Bella and Izzy.

It wasn't like being in love or anything as grand as that. She hadn't suddenly felt compelled to adopt them and call them her own. After all, she hadn't really kissed or hugged either of them since they had arrived. But gradually Sophie felt she had come to respect them coping as bravely and as stoically as they did with all that had happened to them, a fact she was grateful for, as she was certain if they had worn their grief on their sleeves, she would never have been able to handle them. And besides that, she had got unexpectedly used to the new rhythm of her life and having the girls in it.

In fact, Sophie reflected, the hardest hurdle to overcome had been not the children but working her job around them. Somehow she had expected it to stretch and give way like a fast-flowing river rushing past boulders. She had thought that Gillian's motherly compassion for her dead best friend's kids would be endless and that her need to keep Sophie on would be essential, but in fact Sophie had learned something in the last two weeks that she would rather not have discovered: as far as work was concerned she was expendable. It was a cold and sobering lesson to realize that the ten years she had devoted to McCarthy Hughes had not earned her any security to speak of. But even so, she was more determined then ever that she should not let all she had worked for slip away.

So they developed a routine.

Every morning Izzy would wake Sophie up at just after six. The two of them would wake Bella, and then all three would eat cornflakes and toast on the kitchen floor. Sophie would suck down a cup of boiling hot instant coffee as if it were the elixir of life, and Bella and Izzy would drink a pint of low-fat milk between them.

The three would then wash together in the bathroom. Sophie would fill the sink with warm water, hand the girls a sponge each, and do her best in between their splashes and soakings to get herself clean. She would look at the bath and dimly remember a time when she used to have an hour or so to lounge in it, but the best she managed now was a swift shower after the girls were in bed. Dressing was relatively easy, mainly because Izzy wore only one thing, which worked out fine since Sophie had begun to use her washing machine regularly and then dry the fairy dress on the radiator every other night. Sophie supposed there was some kind of unspoken rule that you should not allow a child out in public in a dress that had caked tomato ketchup encrusted down its front, but she refused on principle to wash it every single day.

Bella was even easier to manage, choosing items out of her meager wardrobe every day with an elan her mother would have been proud of. There had been an incident when she had helpfully put in a load of wash and transformed all Sophie's pristine white underwear into a sort of brothel pink, but Sophie had been surprised to discover she didn't care. Her pants may be pink, she reasoned, but at least they were clean. Sophie herself managed to keep up her appearance of groomed neatness, which hid the lesser parts of personal grooming that she had had to let go, so that the stubble grew on her legs and under her arms and her fair brows thickened slightly. No one was going know, after all, and whether she realized it or not, it gave her another reason to keep Jake Flynn at arm's length.

And then Sophie would take the girls to the office every morning between nine and one. The first day she did this, Gillian had suggested in a kind but resolute manner that she organize some part-time child care because an office was no place for small children. Of course, Gillian was absolutely right, but at that point Sophie had felt like she was in one of those fairy tales when the prince has to achieve three impossible tasks to win the hand of the princess. She felt like she had to solve all of these impossible tasks, only at the end she didn't get anything like a prince; in fact, if she was very lucky, all she would get would be her old life back intact.

But Sophie had nodded politely and asked Cal to find the number of a day-care provider in her area, confirm that she was registered, and double-check her references. She had taken the girls around to meet Alice Hardy that very afternoon. Bella and Izzy had seemed to like Alice's friendly, sunny ground-floor flat with a playroom, and while Bella read a book seated at a mini table and chair set as Sophie talked over terms with Alice, Izzy went as far as to play shop with a little boy that Alice had that day.

So it had been a bit of a blow the following morning when the girls realized Sophie was leaving them with Alice and both collapsed into inconsolable tears. Sophie had felt that Izzy's tears were more a reaction to her sister's distress, but Bella's reaction had taken her aback. She hadn't seen any emotional outbursts from the uniquely even-tempered child and so had supposed her placid exterior was the norm. But as Sophie had waved good-bye, Bella's face had crumpled and she backed away from Alice and turned in to Sophie's leg, clinging to her thighs.

Sophie had crouched down to try to untangle Bella, and Izzy launched herself at Sophie's back and flung her arms around her neck. Briefly, Sophie had thought it was like being wrestled by two man-eating crocodiles.

"Come on, girls," she'd said briskly. "Let's be reasonable."

"Please don't leave us here," Izzy had begged. "Please don't leave us!"

"It's only for a couple of hours!" Sophie said, irritated at first. "I'm coming back!"

"Please don't leave us again, Aunty Sophie," Bella said. "We don't know these people, and please don't make us live with people we don't know-please, please! We'll be so quiet. We will be so good, and I won't let Izzy be naughty, please, please!"

"I won't, I won't, I won't," Izzy had wailed right in Sophie's ear.

It had taken a moment for Sophie to decipher the words from the sobs, but once she did, she'd thought she understood. "This is just while I go to work," She'd attempted to explain. "Like school or nursery. It's not a foster home or anything like that." Sophie had sensed Bella wanted further reassurance, but she hadn't known what else to say.

"If we are with you, we know we're safe," Bella managed to say, her dark eyes made liquid by the tears in them.

A strange look had passed between Sophie and Bella then. Sophie had suddenly realized that somehow Bella had come to trust and need her, clinging-Sophie guessed-to the one thing in her life that seemed relatively stable. It was another hint, another glimpse of the real girl who was hidden so carefully away. It made Carrie's death suddenly seem all too real, in that sunny basement flat over half a year later, and for a second Sophie had felt the threat of tears prickle behind her eyes. She wasn't the only one who locked her emotions tightly away.

Since the moment Tess Andrew had walked into her office, Sophie had barely allowed herself a moment to think about Carrie, partly because she felt she didn't have the room or time yet to grieve or to miss Carrie but also because she was afraid that, when the dust had settled, she might find out she felt nothing at all, or else not nearly enough, about the death of a friend who had once meant everything to her. But in that moment Sophie had felt everything that Bella was feeling, and she knew that somewhere inside of her, feelings for Carrie must still live. And knowing that connected her attachment to the children with one more fragile strand, because Bella was showing her a reflection of herself. A picture that made sense.

"Okay," she'd said with a shrug. "You're coming with me."

"Children often cry like this at first," Alice told Sophie kindly. "And they nearly always are putting it on. They're happy as soon as Mum's gone. They'll get used to it."

Sophie had looked into the other woman's open, well-meaning face. "You're probably right," she'd said. "I just think that these two have got enough to get over already."

And the moment Sophie had walked into the office with the children that morning, she had gone to Gillian's office and played her in a way she would never have previously dreamed of.

She'd told Gillian she had tried to leave the girls with a care giver; she'd told her how they had reacted. "They just lost their mother," she'd said. "They are terrified of being abandoned again." It was a direct challenge to Gillian, daring her not to show compassion for the children's plight. "I know this is no place for kids, but I'll make sure they are kept out of the way, and I won't let them interfere with any of my work. The minute they do, I'll think again."

"It's not just what I think," Gillian had said cautiously. "There's health and safety and insurance and all sorts of other things to consider."

"It's only temporary," Sophie had pressed her. "Their dad will be back soon."

"Well, you'd better make sure you're only in the office for as short a time as possible," Gillian had said. "And I want to see updates for all your accounts before you go."

Sophie had had a long talk with the girls, explaining why they had to be extra good, and they had stared at her blankly. The connection she had felt with them at Alice Hardy's seemingly lost again.

And then Cal had produced a huge box of building blocks. He'd unrolled a colorful rug and set it down in one corner before tipping the blocks out. Izzy had hopped with anticipation.

"And here are crayons, and pens and paper. And here's two Barbies and a Barbie car. Now"-he'd looked sternly from one girl to the other-"these are my toys, and I am very kindly letting you play with them, so I expect you to play nicely, and share and not take them out of this office, or I will have to take them back. Now do you promise?"

"Yes, Cal!" the girls had chorused before descending on the rug.

Cal winked at Sophie. "It's sort of like learning another language," he'd said. "Once you let yourself go enough to get hold of the accent, you'll be fine."

"Well," Sophie had replied. "Fortunately I'm only on a short trip, so all I need is a phrase book. Anyway, where did you get all those toys from?" She'd asked, full of gratitude and admiration for her PA.

"I told you," he'd said. "They're mine. From when I was a kid."

And Sophie had decided she believed him.

It was in the middle of this gradual buildup of routine that Tess arrived one evening at the flat.

Sophie squinted at her as she held the front door open. "I'm sure I know you," she said sarcastically. "Oh yes! That's it. You're the one who told me I wasn't alone and that I could expect regular visits."

"Well, you weren't," Tess said, bustling into the flat. "I've called you every day, and every day you've said that things have been going well. I've had this awful neglect case to deal with. And sometimes there aren't enough of us to go around. We have to prioritize."

Sophie shrugged. Tess did phone her every day, it was true, and she supposed that she had only herself to blame that her tiredness and slowly decreasing powers of communication had led her to tell Tess what the social worker wanted to hear in order to get her off the phone and allow Sophie to go to sleep in front of the TV. But then again, as over two weeks had passed since the girls arrived and all three of them were still alive, she supposed she hadn't actually been lying. It gave her an unexpected sense of achievement and satisfaction. All this moaning from parents about how hard it was to bring up children was a load of overblown self-pity in Sophie's eyes. All you needed was a routine and a freezer full of chicken nuggets.

"How's it really been?" Tess asked her once she had a mug of tea in her hands.

"It's really been really hard," Sophie said. "My job's been the worst part. But I think I'm on top of that mainly. I even landed a new client this week. It was quite funny, because Izzy had just felt-tipped some stripes on my linen skirt, but I had to go into the meeting anyway, and the woman asked me where I got it-she said she thought it was fabulous! It's ruined, of course. I've added it to the bill. And I suppose I haven't been sleeping well or eating the way I used to, and my skin's gone-"

"How has it been for the girls?" Tess interrupted her, and Sophie remembered belatedly that she wasn't the most important person in her life anymore.

She thought for a moment. "Okay," she said. "I mean, I get the feeling that most of the time they are living in a sort of suspended animation, waiting for when they know exactly what's going to happen to them, waiting for when they can feel what has happened to them. I guess we're all like that," she said, realizing that was the way she felt too.

"I've had them for over two weeks now," she continued. "Have you found Louis yet?"

Tess dropped her gaze to look at her bangles. "No," she said evenly. "But we've only been looking for a month, remember. We know he went to the States right after leaving here. It's the red tape, you see, dealing with government bodies overseas. It makes everything so slow." She looked back up at Sophie. "But I know we set a time limit on this. I've found a foster home that will take them together. They could go tomorrow if you like."

It was a pivotal moment. A moment when Sophie could have let all her worries go and passed the buck, passed the children on to someone else. But she remembered the look on Bella's face that morning at Alice Hardy's too clearly, and she remembered that flash feeling that had burned across her chest too. She just couldn't do it, even though a large percentage of her still wanted to. She couldn't do it to the girls, who had been through too much already and still had so much more to face. And although she wasn't conscious of the thought, Sophie couldn't do it to herself. Slowly the instinct and intuition that she claimed never to have had was awakening. And that small, sleepy part of her dimly sensed that she needed the children just as much as they needed her.

"They can stay with me," she said.

Tess looked genuinely surprised. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes. Like you said, there's still a good chance Louis might turn up, and I just don't think it would be right to move them again now. We've got a routine and everything."

"But if it's affecting your job...," Tess said uncertainly.

"I'm coping," Sophie replied firmly. She had always liked a challenge.

And among all the distractions, obstacles, and challenges that had suddenly sprung up on a previously tranquil horizon, Jake positioned himself firmly in the middle.

He had called Sophie the morning after they had had the perfectly nice kiss.

"I've got to tell you," he'd said. "I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss."

"Lovely," Sophie had said, for want of anything else to say.

"It was lovely, wasn't it?" Jake had laughed. "That's such an English word, lovely."

"I think you'll find most of the words you speak are English," Sophie had said.

Jake had laughed again. He had a sweetly unself-conscious laugh, like that of a sort of delighted little boy, which didn't quite match his suited and booted hard body. "When can I see you again?" he'd asked.

Sophie had thought. "Well, we've got to meet next week to sign off on the last batch of invoices for your party..."

"So lunch after that?" Jake had asked. "I know you'll have the kids, but we could all go maybe?"

"Jake, I don't know," she'd said. She didn't want any misunderstandings between them. "Remember what I said before about waiting awhile? There's so much on at the moment. I just-I can't really see you in that way. I haven't got any time or space to think about you, to really know what I'm feeling. It wouldn't be fair to you."

Jake had paused for a moment. "Well," he'd said. "I knew exactly how I felt about you before you even uttered one word, but I guess that maybe that's the difference between us. You're an instant smash hit, while I'm the type who grows on people. Look, why don't you just let me be your friend? You need a friend right now."

"I do," Sophie had conceded.

"So I'll bring over some wine and Chinese tonight," Jake had said. "No strings, okay?"

"Okay. And Jake, thank you. I really appreciate all this."

"Of course you do," he told her. "And that's why, sooner or later, one way or another, you're going to fall in love with me."

Jake had come that night and twice again since, sitting and talking over work and children with Sophie until she'd yawned extravagantly and he'd taken the hint. She'd enjoyed his company and the way he looked at her, but never once had she felt the urge to throw caution out the window and let him kiss her again.

"I will," she kept telling herself. "When the time is right. It's just that the time isn't right yet."

Ten.

Clutching the piece of paper that might hold all their futures on it, Sophie went from her bedroom to the living room to check on the girls. They were lying on the floor with two of Cal's Barbies, which he had graciously allowed them to bring home, acting out some kind of intense drama, which-from what Sophie could glean-was based on a recent episode of Coronation Street.

"All right?" she asked them casually.

They ignored her, which was usually a good sign-when it didn't mean they were in the midst of extreme naughtiness. This morning Sophie didn't care either way.

"I'm just going to tidy the bedroom up," she lied. "So don't go swallowing any choking hazards, okay?"

There was no response again except for the high-pitched chatter of Barbie Ken Barlow telling Barbie Deirdre he'd never trust her again.

Sitting on her bed, Sophie looked at the numbers.

She wondered if it might be an idea to actually tidy up her bedroom before phoning, but then she made herself look her reflection right in the eye. "You have to do this," she said. "There is no alternative."

She dialed the number and heard a series of clicks on the line before the long foreign ring tone sounded.

Sophie put down the phone.

"What am I thinking?" she said out loud and with some relief. "They'll speak Spanish, or Peruvian or Inca or something. I need a phrase book at least, or..." An idea popped into her head. "I'll phone Cal."

Sophie had done the bedroom and changed the sheets by the time Cal arrived.

He looked her up and down as she opened the door still in her pajamas. "You should just dread you hair and be done with it," he said.

Sophie said nothing because she knew he was seriously pissed off with her for dragging him out of the bed of an Italian chap called Mauro, who apparently not only was drop-dead gorgeous but also made the best spaghetti carbonara in the whole of London.

"You never eat food unless it comes in the form of a canape," Sophie had reminded him half an hour earlier as she tried to persuade him to give up his Saturday morning for her. "You don't even like pasta."

Cal had bitched and sniped at her via his cell phone for most of his trip over, but Sophie had taken it all on the chin because, after all, he was right. He didn't have to come over to her flat and help her on a Saturday morning. It was above and beyond the call of duty. She would have to grovel to him for weeks, take him to lunch and sign him off for as many Friday afternoons as he wanted for six months.

"Hello, girls," Cal said to Bella and Izzy as he passed the living room. They were now lying in front of the TV, but miraculously they didn't appear to be watching it, perhaps because what was on was some undetermined sport. Bella was drawing yet another mermaid-strewn coastal scene with her new set of felt-tips, and Izzy was feeding her new baby doll.

"Come on, baby," Izzy said, sounding rather impatient. "Let's have some nice chips for tea on the kitchen floor and then we'll watch TV all day!"