"What?"

"You, my darling beloved, are just soooo cool. That's Amy's verdict. You are pretty nice. That's Adam's. You have great legs. That was also Adam. You are so not embarrassing. Amy again. She wants to come and see you on her own, maybe-go shopping; your shoes were just uh-may-zing. And ohmigod, the way you whistled for the cab. Oh, Linda. I love you."

"I love you too," she said.

It felt like any other evening. Not good, not bad, Barney thought, just ... an evening. For going home, eating dinner-dutifully; smiling-a lot; talking-carefully; listening-even more carefully. Trying not to think too much, not to remember ... and most of all, not to look forward. Forward into God knew what. More of this? This odd, calm sadness, this pleasant unease, this lie of a life? Lived with someone who loved him so much. Whom he-still-loved too. In a way. In a concerned, tender, guilty way.

It was a horrible night, wet, cold, windy. He was carrying a brown paper bag with a couple of bottles of wine in it, and it was getting dangerously soggy. He'd also got her some flowers. Those Kenyan two-tone roses that she liked so much. It was Wednesday and he always bought her flowers on Wednesday; it was half joke, half tradition. She said if he ever forgot, she'd know there was something terribly wrong. Well, he hadn't forgotten yet.

When he got home, she wasn't there. Which wasn't particularly unusual; she was terminally sociable, always having quick drinks or even supper with girlfriends after work. Although he couldn't remember her saying anything about this evening.

He went in, put the wine in the fridge, the roses in water-without cutting the stems, which would have induced a ticking off if she'd known; she was very strict about such things: "Barney-darling-it doesn't take a minute, and they live so much longer; you're just lazy ..."

He wondered if Emma fussed over rose stems. He decided it was very unlikely ... Don't start thinking about Emma, Fraser, just don't. Doesn't help Don't start thinking about Emma, Fraser, just don't. Doesn't help.

He wondered if he should do something about supper. He looked in the fridge; there didn't seem to be a lot there. Well, if she was much later, they could go out. Only if she'd eaten-he'd call her. See what she was doing. She'd be amused, not cross, if he'd forgotten some arrangement, would tell him he was hopeless, that she'd be home soon.

Her mobile was switched off.

He sat down, turned on the TV, was watching the end of the seven-o'clock news when he heard her footsteps in the street, heard her key in the lock. She'd be soaked, miserable; he should make her a cup of tea.

He went into the kitchen and was filling the kettle when she came in. He turned to smile at her, and then saw her face. It wasn't quite ... quite right somehow, her face. It wasn't wearing its usual smile; her eyes weren't warm; in fact, they were staring at him as if she had never seen him before. Barney put the kettle down.

She was taking her coat off, her wet coat; he reached for it, to hang it up.

"It's all right," she said, "I can do it."

He followed her as she walked out of the kitchen, throwing the coat down on a chair-unthinkable, that-went into the sitting room, and sat down. Barney sat opposite her. It seemed the only thing to do.

A silence, then: "Barney, why didn't you tell me?"

His stomach lurched hideously.

"Tell you what?"

"You know perfectly well what. I saw Tamara today, and she told me all about it."

The cow. The bitch. How dared she? How dared dared she? She'd promised, as he had; that was what came of making a pact with the devil. she? She'd promised, as he had; that was what came of making a pact with the devil.

"Yes," he said, "yes, I see. Well, she had no right to do that. To tell you. It's nothing to do with her."

"Well, it is a bit, I think. She is my best friend."

"Yes, I know, but ..."

How had they ever got to be best friends, these two? One so good, so transparently sweet and kind, the other so bad, so devious and cruel.

"Well, she has. Do you want to talk about it?"

"If you do."

"Well, of course I do; it affects us both, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Amanda, it does."

"Well ... go on."

"I think I ... might"-he pushed his hair back-"think I might have a beer. You?"

"Not a beer. Maybe a glass of wine."

He poured her her favourite, chardonnay-not very smart, as she often said, but it was so lovely who cared about smart? And poured himself a Beck's.

"Come on, Barney, please. I do need to know."

Oh, God. God, how do I get through this? He looked at her. Her pretty, peaches-and-cream face was very calm, her blue eyes fixed on him intently. He looked at her. Her pretty, peaches-and-cream face was very calm, her blue eyes fixed on him intently.

"Well ..." he said. "Well, it ... it all happened because of the crash. And while Toby was in hospital."

"Yes, that's what Tamara said. Well, sort of."

"Let's forget about what Tamara might have said. I want you to have the story as it really happened. I ... never meant it to happen, Amanda. I loved you so much. I do love you so much. It ... just ... well, it sort of took me over."

She was silent; he didn't dare look at her. Then she said, "I don't quite see what that's got to do with it."

"Amanda, of course it has."

"Well ... go on."

"Yes, well, I think it was partly the emotion about Toby, you know. And I was full of guilt about the crash. She ... well, she helped me over that."

"Who, Tamara?"

"No, of course not Tamara. Her. Emma."

"Emma? Just a minute, Barney, I'm losing it a bit here ..."

Afterwards, he thought, if he'd looked at her then ... but he didn't.

"Yes, she's a doctor there. Oh, Amanda, I'm so, so sorry. Anyway, she was just fantastic the day Toby had his operation. I couldn't have got through it without her. Of course, if you'd been there ... but you weren't."

"No. No, I wasn't."

He did look at her now; she was very pale suddenly, and very still, her eyes darker.

"Go ... go on," she said. Her voice was strange, rather breathless ...

"And ... well, it just went on from there. Our relationship. It developed so quickly. It sounds kind of ... well, cheesy, I know, but I couldn't seem to help it. Neither of us could. We saw each other a few times, not many at all, but we did decide ... well, I ... I was going to tell you that night."

"What night?" she said. Very slowly.

"The night your father died, I was waiting for you, and then while I was waiting your mother phoned, and of course I couldn't ... then."

"No. Well, that was ... very good of you." Her voice wasn't breathless now; it was low and very level.

"I know I'm a shit, Amanda. I know I behaved badly. Terribly badly. But ... well, I did want to take care of you while you were so unhappy."

"Yes, I see. And ... what about her? Emma. While I was so unhappy?"

"I didn't see her. Of course. We agreed it would be very wrong."

"Nice of you both."

He was silent; then he said, "Anyway, it's over. For what it's worth. Finally, I mean. She ... finished it. She said it mustn't go on."

"Right. Well, that was very noble of her." There was a silence while she looked round the room, rather wildly, as if she was seeking an escape, her eyes brilliant with tears. Her voice wasn't tearful, though; it was still very level. "Yes, Barney. Very noble. I don't suppose it occurred to her that it shouldn't have gone on while you were engaged to someone else. Or occurred to you ..."

"Amanda, I know that, obviously. Of course it shouldn't have gone on. I can't justify it or even explain it. I just didn't seem to be able to help it."

"No. So you keep saying. Anyway, it's ... it's over, is it? Have you seen her since?"

"No. I haven't. And yes, it is over. But ... well, that doesn't quite alter what I feel for you. Now."

Another silence; he could feel her gathering her courage to go on.

"And what's that?" she said finally.

"It's not the same, Amanda. It just isn't. It doesn't feel right anymore. It used to be so perfect, and now it isn't. I still love you very much, but-"

"Oh, please. So all that time while I was so wretched over Daddy and his funeral and even Christmas, you were thinking about her?"

"Well ... in a way, yes. I was. But-"

She was crying now. "But it was her who finished it?"

"Yes, it was."

"Well, good for her. At least she has some sense of right and wrong. I suppose you thought you'd just let it go on and on, enjoying both of us ... or maybe you weren't enjoying me. Just staying with me because you were sorry for me. God, Barney, that's so horrible."

"Amanda, I'm sorry. I can't say it enough. I do still love you. Very much."

"Yes, you keep saying. But ... you ... you don't want to marry me, is that it?"

There was a long silence; it was the most difficult thing he had ever done, but he managed it.

"Yes, Amanda," he said. "I'm so sorry, but that is it."

When he heard the car finally pulling away from the house he picked up the phone and called Tamara.

"You cow," he said. "How dare you, how dare you do that."

"Do what?"

"You know perfectly well fucking what. Tell Amanda about me and Emma."

There was a long silence; then she said, "Barney, I didn't. I really, really didn't."

"But"-now he really was going to throw up-"but she knew. She said you told her."

"I didn't tell her about you and Emma, Barney. I told her about Toby and what he'd done to you. And me. That's all. I swear to you, that's absolutely all."

CHAPTER 48

"Mummy, I want to go and get some sweets and my magazines."

"Daisy darling, I'm awfully busy. I've got these plans to finish for someone."

"You're always busy now."

This was true; it was the only way she could distract herself.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Maybe when I've finished ... Oh, no, Granny's coming to take you all to the science museum."

"Again? Boring." This was Charlie.

"Charlie, don't be rude. If you can't find anything to interest you there, then I'm sorry for you."

He shrugged. "So? It's boring."

"But, Mummy," said Daisy, "I so want my magazines. Especially Animals and You; Animals and You; it's got a free necklace. I could wear it to the museum and show Granny." it's got a free necklace. I could wear it to the museum and show Granny."

"Daisy, I just haven't got time."

"It's not fair. You never have time anymore."

"Yes, darling, and I'm sorry. After this job, I won't be so busy. Promise."

"You said that last time," said Charlie.

"Charlie, will you please stop being so difficult."

"I'm not. I'm just telling the truth. And why shouldn't Daisy get her stuff if she wants to?"