'Darling! You are here. I was beginning to think you weren't coming.' He pecked her cheek. 'Aren't those still-lifes something? Though I'm not so sure about this. What the hell's it meant to be?'

She smiled. His predictability was endearing. He only ever appreciated the figurative artists Ellen found.

'Doesn't the title help?'

'Landscape number three? Nope. Looks like random brushstrokes to me.'

'I don't think it matters if you don't know exactly what it is. It's your response that counts.'

'What total bewilderment? That can't be right.'

'In that case, if you've had enough, I'm ready to go home.'

'But you've only just got here.'

'I know, but I'm dead on my feet. We can say goodbye to Ellen on the way out. She won't have noticed I've only been here a few minutes.'

As they moved together towards the front of the gallery, they heard Ellen's raised voice. 'How dare you?' Then a hissed 'I think you should go. Now.' They found Oliver, Ellen and Bea standing together in the short passage between rooms. Ellen was obviously battling to control herself, not wanting to make a scene in front of her customers; Oliver stood expressionless, silent; Bea's face was flushed as if she was angry and upset. One or two heads had turned to see what was going on. The situation clearly needed to be defused before the evening was spoiled.

Taking matters into her own hands, Kate slipped her arm through Bea's, ignoring her attempt to shake it off. 'Time to go, Bea. You can sort out whatever this is another time.'

'Bea's said what she has to say. There won't be another time,' said Ellen, slipping her arm through Oliver's.

'You can't mean that,' said Bea, disbelieving.

'I do. Just go. Please.'

Oliver nodded in Ellen's support.

'Fine. I can manage on my own, thanks.' Bea shook off Kate's grip and left the gallery.

'What on earth's happened?'

Ellen was close to tears and Oliver still looked rattled, but Kate's question seemed to focus him. 'Nothing. Bea's had one drink too many, that's all.'

'How dare she?' Ellen said under her breath. 'My oldest friend.'

'It doesn't matter. There's nothing I wouldn't have told you if you'd asked. You know that.' Oliver's self-assurance was back. 'Forget it. She'll see sense in the morning. Let's enjoy the rest of the party.'

'Oh, my God! Jed! Yes, we must.' The mention of Jed's name seemed to jog Ellen back to the present. Apparently shrugging off whatever had been said and forcing a smile, she was the owner of the gallery once more.

Paul said their goodbyes but Kate hung back as he left. She couldn't leave Ellen without a word. 'Will you be OK?'

'Don't worry, I'll be fine. I thought Bea was above something like this.'

'But what's she done? Tell me quickly.'

'In her wisdom, she's decided to poke about in Oliver's past. I don't know what she thinks she's found out and I don't want to know. Just the fact that she would do such a thing behind my back is enough.'

'I'm sure she did it for you.'

'Did you know about this?' Ellen scrutinised Kate, making her feel awkward. 'Actually, you know what? Don't bother answering. I can see that you did.'

'She did say she was going to do something but I didn't think-'

'To stop her? I suppose that would have been too much to ask. Call yourselves friends? Oh, forget it.' She cut across Kate's stammered attempt to explain. 'I'm going back.' She merged into the party again where Kate saw her approach a grey-bearded man to introduce him to a couple of besuited clients who appeared to be discussing one of the larger abstracts. If it weren't for the heightened colour in Ellen's cheeks, no one would have guessed that anything was wrong.

Somehow Bea had managed to lob a bomb at their friendship, and simultaneously cemented further the relationship between Ellen and Oliver. Long experience told Kate that there was no point in trying to piece things back together while Ellen was in this mood. Things would no doubt look very different to all of them in the morning. As she reached the door, she turned and caught sight of Oliver. He was standing alone by the big abstract behind Ellen's desk, watching her. As he caught Kate's eye, he inclined his head, his mouth in a taut half-smile. But his gaze was icy.

The cold night air hit Bea like a smack in the face. She strode down the street, barely aware of where she was heading until she stopped to take her bearings. At once, she was aware of the adrenalin rushing through her body. Her legs felt shaky and her heart was still pounding as the red fog of rage began to lift. Ellen's expression when she realised what Bea had been doing behind her back was imprinted on her memory. She had only seen her look like that once before, when a school friend's mother had accused Emma of lying. Ellen protected those closest to her with a formidable ferocity. Once crossed, she didn't forget or forgive.

Ellen's belief that Bea had betrayed their friendship had brought the shutters crashing down between them. She didn't understand that Bea had been acting out of concern for her, and now it would be twice as hard to persuade her. Bea cursed her big mouth. Adele had always warned her to think before she spoke: sage advice that she'd failed to follow yet again. As she began to walk, more slowly now, she rewound the evening and began to play it back to herself. How pleased she had been to see Kate. Through the day, she had texted, emailed and left a message on her voice-mail, but typically Kate had been too busy to reply. Not that she wouldn't have wanted to but Bea knew those sessions on call could be interminable. Mark's advice had been to talk everything through with Kate. He was as shocked as Bea had been by what she had unearthed but agreed that now she had the knowledge she couldn't bury it for Ellen's sake but he had also suggested she take things slowly. She had to be absolutely certain that the facts were incontrovertible. And, she cursed herself again, that was exactly what she had failed to do.

Trying to tell Kate what she knew at the end of a working day and at the private view had been unbelievably stupid. Nonetheless her friend's unexpected rebuff had hurt badly. That and two glasses of wine on an empty stomach had been enough to tip Bea into that dangerous zone between sobriety and recklessness. So when Oliver had approached her, in dark jeans and pink cashmere sweater, a smug glow emanating from him, her hackles had instantly risen.

'Enjoying yourself?' His opening remark had been innocuous enough.

'Mmm. Thanks.'

'Ellen's got a wonderful eye, hasn't she? I'm so proud of her. She's worked so hard on this.'

'As hard as Suzanne used to, I expect.' Why had she said that?

Standing in the street now, she could see that her response had popped out for all the wrong reasons. His patronising attitude towards Ellen had irritated her beyond belief. She didn't need him to point out aspects of her friend she had known for years as if he was the first to spot them. Was that because she was as jealous as the others joked she was? At last the answer was clear to her. Actually, no. As she'd explained to Adele, she wanted a man, yes, but she didn't want one who would take over her life. The first months after Colin's departure had been hard, but now she was used to having control of the TV remote, of having the food she wanted in the kitchen, of not having to eat at night if she didn't want to or of just having a couple of well-chosen chocolates and a glass of wine or two, of making her own decisions. Having a man in her life was great but only as long as she could keep a bolt-hole for herself.

She had intended to do as Mark advised and say nothing to anyone until she had cast-iron evidence but she hadn't been able to hold back, and now she knew the two Oliver Shepherds were one and the same person. During the brief second in which Oliver's mask slipped, she had seen all she needed to see.

'Suzanne?' He cleared his throat. 'I'm sorry, you've lost me.'

'You know exactly who I'm talking about,' Bea said, louder than she meant to. 'I could see it in your face.'

'I don't know who you've been talking to but I advise you to stay well out of my affairs.'

She saw him click one nail against another. 'We're not going to talk about this now, but be very clear, I'm not going to let you hurt Ellen.'

'I don't know what you think you've found out but I've got absolutely nothing to hide.'

'You can bluff as much as you like but I know about the gallery in France and I will tell her.'

He was about to say something, his eyes narrowed with dislike, when Ellen materialised at his elbow. 'Is everything all right?' She had only to take one look at both of them to know that it was anything but. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing to worry about, darling.' Oliver slipped a proprietorial arm around her and kissed her forehead. 'Bea seems to have been digging about in my past on your behalf.'

'You've been doing what?' Ellen turned to Bea, all warmth gone from her expression.

'I made a couple of phone calls,' Bea had blurted out. 'I found out one or two things about Oliver that I think you should know.'

'How dare you?' Ellen's voice had trembled and even though she was making a huge effort to control herself, her anger was obvious. She had taken Oliver's hand and looked up at him, then at Bea. At that moment, Bea had known she had lost her. 'I think you'd better go. Now.'

Then, to make things worse (if that were possible), Kate and Paul had chosen to appear. With neither friend on her side, her only course of action had been to beat a retreat. But what was she to do now?

She started walking slowly towards home, letting the cold night air clear her head, thankful she'd chosen her flat boots that morning. She berated herself for knocking back that second glass of wine. Without it, she'd probably have kept her mouth shut. But there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. Despite being wounded by Ellen and Kate's rejection, she would find a way to put things right. Her long-time friendship with Ellen and what she knew about Oliver meant that she couldn't possibly walk away.

She passed a parade of shops where a small branch of the Co-op was still open. Having picked up half a dozen eggs, some mushrooms and new potatoes for Ben's and her supper, plus milk for the morning, she skirted a group of hoodies lurking near the entrance with their beer cans and fags. Turning right, she passed a new police sign asking for witnesses to a fatal incident that had occurred three nights earlier. She quickened her step, tightening her grip on her bag, aware that the short cut she was taking through the estate was not entirely well advised. The sounds of reggae and rock floated from a couple of dimly lit windows. Knots of disaffected youth hung about on corners, shouting and smoking, but to her relief, none of them appeared to notice her. For once, she thanked the Lord for the anonymity bestowed by middle age.

She emerged onto the main road feeling calmer. She took her mobile out of her pocket to call Mark. To her annoyance, she saw that the battery was almost dead. As she walked on, she thought about how considerate and sensible he'd been when she'd regaled him with Suzanne's story. What would he say to her now? He'd lean back in his chair, rub his right cheekbone with his fingertips as he thought, close his eyes and exhale loudly. Then he'd talk slowly as if weighing every word. His advice would surely be what it had been all along: she must obtain her evidence and she must talk to Kate. Of course.

Hastening down her street, she was relieved to see the light in their hallway, like a beacon welcoming her home. Ben was back from football practice. She made omelettes and chatted, catching up with as much of his day as he'd allow. Then she excused herself to go upstairs where she could talk to Kate uninterrupted.

As she took to the chaise longue, she remembered the last phone conversation she'd had from there. She put her cup of coffee on the side table. If Kate would only listen to her, she would surely understand.

The phone was picked up after a couple of rings. She explained to a rather hesitant Paul that she had to speak to Kate. 'I know she's knackered but this is really urgent, Paul. Please put her on.'

'She's gone to bed, Bea. I don't think I can . . .'

He was a hopeless liar.

'Please, Paul.' She hated begging but there was little else she could do.

There was a short silence in which she guessed they were mouthing a conversation between each other. Then, 'I'm sorry but she doesn't want to talk to you at the moment. It's too late.'

'I see.'

'Why don't you both sleep on it? Things will look different in the morning.'

Bea hung up. She thought about calling Mark. But falling out with both of her friends wasn't something she wanted to discuss with him. Besides, she was ashamed at not having stuck to the plan he'd suggested. This was something the three of them would have to sort out themselves. The last thing she wanted was to lose their friendship. Ellen had every reason to be angry with her. Bea would probably feel as incensed herself if she thought someone, particularly a close friend, had been poking around in her, or even Mark's, private life. But Kate was another matter. She had chosen to side with Ellen without bothering to hear what Bea had to say. The injustice of this fuelled Bea's determination not to let the matter rest. Normally, if any of them fell out over anything, they would be on the phone to each other the next day to sort matters out. This time, it felt different. If Kate and Ellen were going to stonewall her, then she would leave them to stew for a few days and get on with things her own way.

She went downstairs to get The Times Atlas of the World, a present to Ben from a well-intentioned god-parent, but only Bea ever used it. She opened it at the map of France, then switched on her laptop and started Googling. When she found the site she wanted, she picked up her phone and dialled Suzanne. Half an hour later, with a return airline ticket booked for the next day, she stood up feeling happier, switched off the lights and went downstairs to watch TV with Ben.

Chapter 28.

'What the hell am I going to do?' Kate flopped, despairing, on to the living-room sofa and hugged a rose-print cushion to her stomach. 'Bea thinks I'm siding with Ellen against her, and Ellen thinks I've ganged up with Bea. How ridiculous is that? But if only I'd stopped Bea trying to dig about in Oliver's past, this wouldn't have happened.'

'I should think stopping Bea when her mind's made up would be like trying to stop an express train. You couldn't have done anything even if you'd wanted to.' Paul pulled the small table that bore a vase of lilies back from the window and drew the curtains behind it, then walked to the fireplace and stood looking at her, warming the back of his legs.

'I guess you're right.' She groaned, bending double over her knees. 'But I feel so responsible.'

'Don't. I've already told you.' He came over to sit beside her, careful not to disturb Mouse, who was showing his pleasure at being back on his favourite cushion with a full-throttled purr, twisting his body so his stomach was on offer to anyone who'd rub it. Paul placed his hand on the small of Kate's back and began to stroke it as she relaxed into his touch. 'You've got enough on your plate with the practice.'

'But they've been such good friends and they matter to me. They really do.' She was astonished to realise there was a tear on her cheek. She wiped it away and sniffed.

Paul put a hand over hers. 'You're exhausted. You're working too hard, you know. Couldn't you cut down on your sessions?' Before he'd lost his job, he'd suggested this occasionally but now he was home alone he'd mentioned it several times.

'You know I can't. It'd look as if I didn't care any more. Just because you've taken to the life of Reilly!' She picked up one of the magazines neatly stacked on the coffee-table, flicked a few pages then put it down, regretting her outburst. 'Anyway, my work isn't the point here. My friends are. I've got to sort this mess out somehow. If I don't, no one will. I know them.'

The phone rang. Paul got there first. 'Bea! Hi.'

Kate reached out to take the phone from him. But he stood listening then said, 'She's gone to bed, Bea. I don't think I can . . .'

He put a finger to his lips, then walked to the back of the room, saying nothing as he looked out over the garden. He listened to what Bea had to say, his back to Kate so he couldn't see her mouthing at him to give her the phone. When she got up and tried to grab it, he held it above his head so she couldn't reach, whispering, 'Trust me.'

She collapsed back into the sofa and waited the conversation out, then let rip. 'What the fuck do you think you're doing? You can be such an annoying man sometimes. That was for me. Now give me the phone and let me call her back.'

'No.' Paul was adamant. 'Listen to me. I did that for your own good. It is too late to begin to sort this out now. Like it or not, you're tired, tempers are frayed, Bea's had one drink too many and you don't want to make things worse. If you leave it until everyone's calmed down, you'll sort this out much faster.'

Kate gave a deep sigh, putting her head into her hands. 'You're probably right, dammit. But I won't be able to call either of them tomorrow because I'm tied up all day and then we've got a partners' meeting in the evening and you know how they go on and on.' She thought for a second. 'I think I'd feel better if I spoke to her now.'

'Leave it, please. For once, I'm right.' He put the phone on the mantelpiece among the clutter that had accumulated there over the years.

She suddenly hadn't the energy to stand up and get it for herself. What was it about his brand of male certainty that made her wilt into submission? Every working day was chock full of action to be taken, decisions that had to be made from diagnosis to treatment, from referrals to sick notes, from what to put on in the morning to which sandwich to have for lunch. Normally she would stand up to anyone in the interests of whatever she thought was right, or wanted to do, but this evening a part of her welcomed the decision being taken out of her hands. The weariness that she'd felt earlier on in the gallery was enveloping her again and she felt utterly drained. Yes, she knew Paul was right. She was putting too much physical and emotional energy into the practice but what alternative did she have? Her commitment had always been to medicine, even when she was working part-time as a salaried GP bringing up their young family. She leaned back and closed her eyes. 'OK, I give in.'

'Good. In that case, if you've got a jot of energy left, let's talk about Africa. I've been trying to pin you down for days.'

Her eyes snapped open. 'Africa? Are you serious?'

'Yes.' He walked over to the mahogany roll-top desk that they'd inherited from Paul's grandfather, the laptop on its surface at odds with the Victorian design. He pulled some papers from one of the drawers. 'Have a look at these. I've been looking at flights to Accra and seeing if we could combine seeing Sam with a bit of an adventure of our own. I think I may have to put us in the hands of a travel agent in the end, but at least I've made a start.'

She stared at him, disbelieving. Was this the man who had been turning into a middle-aged conservative eco-warrior, to whom the word 'holiday', let alone 'air-miles', had become anathema? 'What's brought this on? I thought you didn't want to go there.'

'That was when all that trouble was going on at work and I couldn't think further than the next meeting. Now I'm at home, with nothing imminent work-wise, I thought I might as well investigate. I know how much you want to go. And what's the point in having a socking great pay-off if we can't enjoy some of it?'

'What about your carbon footprint?' she teased.

'Sod it.' He grinned. 'This is in the name of Sam and in the name of us. What do you think?'

'I can't think of anything I'd like more.' The idea of seeing Sam again, finding out how he was living, seeing the work he was doing and meeting his friends thrilled her beyond measure.

'In that case, have a look at these flights and stuff and tell me what you think. February sound good to you? It'll be baking, but we'll miss the rainy season.'

'Sounds amazing. You have done your homework.' She took the printouts from him and began to look at the flight prices and thumbnail summaries of what Ghana had to offer. She was amused to see he'd ringed the eco-tourism section of one of the Ghana tourism sites. To be expected! But as she was bombarded by images of exotic wildlife, colourful native costumes, long, secluded beaches and more natural and cultural highlights than she had imagined existing there, she caught her breath with excitement.

'Have you told Sam? What about Jack?'

'I thought I'd leave Sam to you but I have spoken to Jack. I thought he might want to come but, believe it or not, he wants to make his own trip to visit his brother, without us. He's getting a job to earn the money!'

'He wants to work? Pinch me am I dreaming?'

'That's what he says, so I think we should leave him to it. My only hope for him was that a life of lotus-eating in London would pale as his money ran out. And that's what seems to be happening.'