As Abi hadn't the faintest idea where the milking parlour was, or indeed what it was-it sounded rather like something in a cartoon, with all the cows lounging around on sofas-she decided on the waiting.

She'd dressed quite carefully for the occasion in jeans and a T-shirt and some new red Converse trainers; she didn't want William to think she was some townie airhead, tottering through his farmyard in three-inch heels. She smiled at Mrs. Grainger, who managed what might have passed for a smile in return; she was not in the least what Abi would have expected William's mother to be like, not a cosy lady in a cotton pinny, making bread, but a rather smart, upper-crust woman with well-cut hair, wearing dated but clearly expensive trousers, a checked shirt, and a pair of brown leather loafers.

"Come through to the drawing room." She led Abi through the hall and into a rather dark room lined with books and paintings and gestured towards a sofa. "Do sit down. Can I offer you something, a sherry perhaps ...?"

Abi shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thanks. I'll just wait."

Abi sat down and folded her hands in her lap in what she hoped was a ladylike manner and smiled apologetically at Mrs. Grainger.

"I'm so sorry if I'm being a nuisance," she said.

"You're not, of course. But you must excuse me. We've been away and there's rather a lot to do."

"Of course."

When she had gone, Abi stood up and wandered round the room; the walls were covered in extremely faded brocade paper, the carpet was a sort of very large rug, set down on flagstones, and threadbare in places. What looked like the remnants of about a hundred fires, a vast heap of ash and burnt-out logs, lay in the grate, and there were no curtains at the tall windows, just wooden shutters.

The furniture was all clearly very old and rather mismatched: a round polished table in quite a light colour, and then a chest so dark it was almost black. There were two deeply comfortable-looking armchairs, but the sofa was stiff and button backed. Several portraits hung on the walls, mostly of men, clearly going back a century or two, although there were two of women, both rather pretty, one in a low-waisted, narrow ankle-length dress, and one in what looked like a rather elaborate nightie. She wondered if they were William's ancestors. Somehow the sweet-faced, untidy bloke she had met yesterday didn't seem to fit in here. But clearly she was wrong.

She looked out of the window now; as far as she could see were fields, fields and hills and trees. She wondered if it all belonged to the Graingers and decided, if it did, they must be very rich.

After about twenty minutes, she got bored and, purely by way of a diversion, decided to go in search of a loo.

As she crossed the hall, looking tentatively at the doors, Mrs. Grainger appeared.

"Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if I could use your toilet?" said Abi apologetically.

A slightly pained expression settled on Mrs. Grainger's face.

"Of course. Follow me."

She led the way upstairs and across a landing; then, "The lavatory is there," she said, pointing down a corridor and emphasizing the word rather pointedly. Silly cow Silly cow, Abi thought.

As she made her way back downstairs, William appeared. He was filthy, his face grimy and sweat-studded, his hair awry with shoots of grass in it, and, as an extra accessory, an enormous cobweb slung from one of his ears to his shoulder. Abi smiled and then, as she studied him, giggled slightly.

"Hello," he said. "Sorry, I didn't realise you'd arrived." And then, as she continued to smile at him, added, "What's so funny?"

"Oh-nothing. Sorry. You've got ... Here, let me ..." She stepped forward, reached up, and pulled the cobweb from his ear.

"Well, it's very nice to see you," William said, smiling his amazing, life-changing smile.

Abi smiled back and thought how wonderful it was to see him and then-driven by some compulsion entirely outside her control-reached forward and kissed him on the cheek just as his mother came into the hall.

"I'm not sure my mother knew what to make of that," he said, grinning, handing her the large gin and tonic she had asked for in the pub, "you kissing me then."

"Yes, I'm sorry," she said. "I don't quite know what came over me. It's been such a sh-horrible day, two days, and then suddenly there you were and everything seemed so much better and I just wanted to let you know that. Sorry."

"No, no, don't apologise," he said. "It's fine; doesn't matter if she liked it or not, and I certainly did." He smiled again, indicated the drink. "That all right for you? Got enough ice?"

"Oh-yes, thank you. Plenty. It's very nice."

"Good." He took several large gulps of beer and then set the glass down again. "That's better. Bad day for me too. Lost a calf this afternoon-"

"Oh, no," said Abi. "Where-should we go and look for it?"

And then felt stupid when he said, half laughing, "Not lost like that; she was born dead, breech; got the cord round her neck. Dad and I were tugging for over an hour, but she came out limp as you like; we couldn't get more than two breaths out of her. Heifer calf too, much more of a loss. Then we couldn't get the old tractor started-that's how I got so filthy, rummaging in the barn for a jump lead-and Dad, he tends to take it out on me, that sort of thing. So it was really good to see you there and to have something take my mind off all that stuff. How were my directions?"

"Rubbish," she said, grinning, and then, rummaging for her cigarettes, said, "Could we go outside? I really need one of these."

"Course ... Want another drink?"

"Oh-no, thank you. I have to drive back, and I felt really, really bad on the road again down there. I-"

"I know what you mean. Bit heavy, wasn't it? Come on, let's go outside. Want some orange juice or something?"

He came out with the orange juice, and another pint for himself; she smoked a cigarette and then another "Sure you won't have one?"

"No," he said, "I never got the hang of them. I did try to like them once, when I was at college, but they just made me feel sick."

"And where was college?"

"Oh, Cirencester," he said, clearly expecting her to know what Cirencester was. "I went there straight from school."

"And ... where was school?"

"Eton," he said, with much the same intonation. Abi decided it was time to go.

As she dropped him off at the bottom of the track he said: "Thanks for coming. I should have come to meet you halfway. It's terrible when you lose your phone, isn't it? I'm always doing it, and I don't suppose mine's nearly as important as yours. I did ring a number on yours, by the way, but whoever answered it wasn't very helpful."

"And who was that?" said Abi.

"Oh-that chap you were at the crash with. Jonathan. I scrolled through looking for a name I might recognise, and saw his."

The evening seemed to have got even hotter.

"And ...?"

"I got a woman. His wife, maybe? I tried to explain, said I'd been at the crash, and that you'd given it to me while you saw to some kids. I asked her if her husband was a doctor, just to satisfy myself I'd got the right bloke. Anyway, she just rang off, very abrupt she was."

"Oh, really?" said Abi. "I wonder why ..."

CHAPTER 17

Jonathan was drifting in and out of a painful, dehydrated sleep when Laura came in and sat down on the bed.

"How are you, darling?"

"Oh ... bit better. Yes. I'm so sorry, Laura. Embarrassing you like that."

"It's all right. You've had such a terrible time. I just felt very sorry for you."

"Oh, darling ..." He reached out, took her hand. "I'm so lucky to have you."

"Well, I'm glad you think so," she said. She drew her hand away after a moment, pushed her hair back. "Would you like anything? Some more water, chamomile tea, something like that?"

"Water, yes, please. With ice in it."

She came back with a big jug, set it down, smiled at him again.

"Kids all right? Not too ashamed of their father?"

"Don't think so. You mustn't worry about it."

"Well, it was pretty ... unattractive."

She was silent, then shrugged. It was distant, cool, unlike her. A tiny spiral of something-not fear, more unease, ice-cold unease-began to work its way into Jonathan's stomach.

"Jonathan," she said, "can you tell me just one thing? I still don't understand why you were on the M4. Not the M40."

"Oh," he said, and was astonished at the ease with which it came out, "cutting down there can actually be quite a good idea on a Friday afternoon. Rather than sticking on the M40, which is a horrible road. Always get a buildup of traffic towards the M25. So it didn't seem as silly as it sounds. But it was a big mistake. As it turned out."

"Yes. It certainly was. But ... all's well that ends well, I suppose. For you, anyway. I'll leave you in peace, darling. See you later."

She left the room, closed the door behind her. Jonathan suddenly felt very frightened indeed. He absolutely must speak to Abi-and as soon as possible.

"Jonathan? Jonathan, we need to talk-"

"It's good to hear from you. But I'm a bit tied up at the moment. I'll call you back later. Everything OK with you?"

Obviously she was there-there or near.

"Yes, fine," she said. "But-"

"Fine. I'll speak to you first thing in the morning, or later this evening, maybe? We can discuss the prognosis then. Well, thanks for ringing. Bye, now ..."

It was clearly not the occasion to tell him that William had spoken to Laura. Pity. For all sorts of reasons. Not least that she really was rather looking forward to it.

"Mrs. Connell, hello. Your husband is doing very well, you know. Very well indeed, holding his own magnificently." It was Dr. Pritchard again. Maeve managed somehow to smile at him. "Now, the staff nurse says she thinks you should go home for twenty-four hours, and I agree with her; you look completely exhausted. He's in very good hands, you know."

"Yes, of course," said Maeve. "I do know that. But-"

"Got a car here?"

"Well, no. My friend brought me in yesterday, and she's gone home now, obviously. My mother's coming tomorrow, so I could maybe go home with her."

"How about the train?"

"Well ..." She hesitated, and then started to cry. She hadn't cried before, not once, but somehow these minor problems of getting home, not being able to afford the train, seemed to be defeating her. "The thing is, I haven't got ... got much money-on me, that is ..."

He looked at her in silence for a moment, and then said, "Mrs. Connell-Maeve; do you mind if I call you Maeve?"

She shook her head helplessly.

"Maeve, I've got to pop out for half an hour, go into town. I'll take you to the station if you like. And if you're short on cash, I can lend you twenty quid, if that would help-"

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Now, why ever not? You can pay me back whenever you next see me. Come on, now, dry your eyes, and I'll be back for you in about ten minutes. Don't argue; I insist. And don't worry about your husband; he's not very well, of course, but he's more or less off the danger list; he's a walking miracle ..."

Jack Bryant settled into a wonderfully comfortable, battered old chair in what Hugh Mackintosh called his study, but which would have contained most of his Fulham flat. It was a glorious evening; the view of the moors was ravishing, the colours just turning autumnal. He was clearly in for a very good few days.

"Another gin, Jack?" Mackintosh picked up the bottle, waved it at him.

He was one of Jacks oldest friends; they'd had a hell of a time together in the sixties: Annabel's and a different dolly bird every night, and he'd taught Jack to shoot as well. Good chap.

Jack grinned, held out his glass. "Yes, thanks."

"You must be tired. Hell of a drive. Even in that car of yours."

"It was fine. Enjoyed it. Lovely to give the old girl a bit of a run. And, of course, I stopped in York last night."

"You didn't get caught up in that crash yesterday then, on the M4? We thought it might have delayed you."

"No, bloody lucky. Must have missed it by inches. I read it was at four p.m. I can't have been clear of that spot by more than five minutes. If that."

"Christ. You must have a guardian angel of some sort."

"Doubt it. Anything angelic gave up on me years ago, as you know, but it sounds ghastly."

"Well, I'll leave you to get settled in. Expect you'd like a bath before dinner. No rush, down here for drinks at seven thirty. Moira's dying to see you."

Luke grinned at Emma.

"You look great, babe. I really like the dress."

She'd known he would; it was black, low-cut, very short. What she thought of as a bloke's dress.

They were in a cab now, on their way to the restaurant. Her sleep had done Emma good; she felt relaxed and happy. And ... pretty sexy, actually.

A uniformed doorman was standing outside the Dorchester; he whisked open the taxi door, stood respectfully aside while they got out.