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‘Hugh!'
she exclaimed, exasperation overcoming her surprise. ‘What the
hell
are you doing here?'

‘A charming greeting, my love! But what else am I to do, when you won't answer my letters?'

‘I should have thought not replying was answer enough.' All the same, she regretted now not following her father's advice.

Hugh took her elbow, his grip tightening as she tried to free herself. ‘Look, we can hardly carry on a discussion in the teeth of this gale. Let's go to the Clarendon for a drink.'

‘There's no point,' Lindsey protested. ‘I've nothing to say to you.'

‘Then come and don't say it in the dry.' He was already walking her purposefully along Guild Street towards the hotel that stood at the far end, on the corner of Alban Road. Since she had insufficient breath to argue further, Lindsey allowed herself to be led across the road, past the turning to Dean's Crescent North, and into the blessedly warm, dry foyer of the hotel. Minutes later, they were seated at a corner table in the bar, with large gin and tonics in front of them.

Hugh Cavendish was tall, red-haired and blue-eyed, with the sandy lashes and pale skin that went with his colouring. His nose was long, his mouth thin-lipped, his chin firm. Lindsey's eyes, travelling assessingly over his face, could detect no changes in it.

He in his turn was studying her: the oval faced still flushed from her battle with the elements, the dark, wind-tossed hair, the rebellious brown eyes. In short, the face of the girl he had married, and the woman he had found it impossible to live with or, to his cost, without. Why the hell had he embarked on that idiotic affair, giving her the lever she needed to rid herself of him?

‘You look exactly the same,' he said aloud.

‘What did you expect?' she returned sharply. ‘That I was pining away without you?'

He smiled wryly. ‘Well, I've been doing a fair amount of pining myself.'

She slammed her hand on the table, making their glasses dance. ‘Stop it, Hugh! It's well and truly over, and there's no way I'm going down that road again.'

‘We never gave ourselves a second chance, though, did we?'

‘By that stage,' she said grimly, ‘I didn't want one.'

‘Look, I was all kinds of a fool – I admit it. But can't we—?'

‘It wasn't just the affair, you know; things were becoming unbearable long before that.'

‘Have you met anyone else?' he asked in a low voice.

‘That's neither here nor there.'

‘But have you?'

‘Perhaps.' She held his eye steadily, thinking of the couple of men with whom she'd had brief flings since the divorce.

‘Serious?'

‘It's none of your business. You've no right to question me.'

‘I still love you, Lindsey. Believe me, I don't want to, but I can't help it.'

‘Then you'll have to get over it.' She took another sip of her drink, wishing there wasn't so much still in the glass. ‘Hugh, I told you this conversation was pointless. Please don't contact me again.'

‘I'm not going to give up, you know. Not until you actually marry someone else.' He looked at her for a moment, noting the determined set of her mouth, and, sighing, changed the subject to something less controversial.

‘How's Rona?'

‘Fine.'

‘Oh, come on!' he protested. ‘We can at least be civilized. Surely you can manage more than one word?'

‘Very well; Rona, as I said, is fine, and about to embark on a biography of Theo Harvey, the thriller writer.'

‘That should be an eye-opener.'

‘Meaning?'

‘That there've been various stories circulating about him.'

‘No doubt she'll unearth them. She's good at her job.'

‘And friend Max? How's he?'

‘Also well,' Lindsey answered steadily. Hugh had never liked Max; she had the uncomfortable feeling that it was because he'd detected her own unwilling attraction to him, an attraction which, in self-defence, she had from the first disguised as light-hearted antagonism.

‘And you, obviously, are still at Chase Mortimer. I was afraid, when you didn't answer my letter, that you might have left. I phoned to check.'

‘Not only still there, but a partner.'

‘Good for you. Congratulations.'

She looked at him challengingly. ‘And what about you? How is it you're free to come waltzing up here when you should be at your desk, working?'

‘You sound like a wife!' Hugh teased, adding, as her face remained impassive, ‘I had to come up to Aylesbury to see a client, so I made a detour on the way home.'

‘A pretty long one.'

‘But well worth it.'

Breaking free of his gaze, her eyes fell to his hand on the table, the fine red-gold hairs glinting on the back of it, and she shivered as her body treacherously betrayed her. For Hugh had been a passionate lover, able to take her to heights unachieved before or since, and although mentally and emotionally she'd felt nothing but relief when they parted, physically she had continued to ache for him. Which was why, frantic for sexual release, she had fled to Max that time. The memory of it still woke her in the night, drenched in sweat and burning with shame, to recall her abject pleas, her stumbling, confused excuses about ‘keeping it in the family', and the cold contempt in his eyes.

She drained her glass of the remaining liquid and picked up her bag. ‘I must be going,' she said.

‘I'll walk you to your car.'

‘No need.' She stood up and allowed him to help her on with her coat.

‘I insist,' he said quietly.

The rain had stopped, but the wind was still gusting and he took her arm as they turned into Alban Street and battled their way to the car park behind the offices, shared by Chase Mortimer and other firms in the building. Only a few cars now remained, sleek and wetly shining. Lindsey walked over to hers, unlocked it, and turned to Hugh.

‘Thanks for the drink,' she said, ‘but please don't come again. I shan't change my mind.'

He bent down, and she detected the familiar aftershave as he lightly kissed her cheek. ‘And I shan't give up trying,' he said, as she turned and climbed quickly into the car. To her fury, she found she was trembling. She started the car with a jerk, causing the tyres to skid on the wet ground, then spun round and drove swiftly out of the car park. Her last glimpse of him in the side mirror was of a solitary figure under the harsh light that, for security reasons, brilliantly illuminated it. As she again turned left, on to Alban Road, tears were raining unchecked down her face.

All right, he'd been charming this evening – and Hugh could certainly be charming when he chose – but it was important to remember all his other traits that had contributed to months of misery and which, should they ever get back together, would undoubtedly resurface.

‘Good
bye,
Hugh!' she said aloud, and turned up the volume on the radio. As a means of distraction, however, it was a failure, and as she fought to control the car against the buffeting wind, she found herself resurrecting all the memories she'd striven so hard to forget.

‘Everyone has rows,' Rona had said once, when Lindsey had confided in her. ‘Max and I certainly do.' But
their
rows had sounded like the kind she and Rona occasionally indulged in – shouting at each other, banging around, but always aware of underlying love. Those between herself and Hugh had been quite different; his temper could flare with frightening suddenness, and hurtful jibes would be flung at her, which afterwards lodged in the memory. He'd never actually hit her, though there were times he'd come close to it, and when his rage had burned out, he would sulk for days, refusing to speak to her. Occasionally, later, he would say, ‘It's my red hair!' – as though that excused everything. It was the only apology she ever received.

Her mother's voice sounded in her ear.
The best way to get rid of him is to find someone else.

And Hugh himself had echoed her:
I shan't give up till you actually marry
.

Simple, really, Lindsey told herself bitterly. But where exactly was she going to meet an attractive man in his forties, who wasn't either married or gay? Yet she must find someone, she thought fearfully, turning into the driveway of her home; because if it ever occurred to Hugh to exert sexual pressure, she might not have the strength to hold out. And that would be fatal.

Rona's contract arrived in the post the next morning, and she was flicking through it when Max phoned.

‘Have you seen the paper?' he asked.

‘What paper?'

‘The
news
paper, honey! Wake up!'

‘I've not had a chance; Eddie's just sent me the contract, and—'

‘Well, if you've got it in front of you, turn to the foot of page 4. Can't stop now, but meet me for lunch at the Gallery?'

‘I wish you wouldn't be so mysterious,' Rona grumbled, trying one-handedly to open the broadsheet.

‘Twelve-thirty?'

‘Yes, fine. I'll be there.'

‘Love you!' he said, and rang off.

Rona put down the phone and turned to the page he had indicated, her heart giving a jerk as the photograph used for her
Chiltern Life
articles smiled up at her. Alongside it was the heading ‘Biographer to Write Author's Life'.

Apprehensively she read on:

How had they got hold of that photo? she wondered suspiciously, and in immediate reply the phone rang again and Barnie's voice said in her ear, ‘Seen the plug I engineered for you?' She'd told him of the project when she'd handed in the final article.

‘So it's you I have to thank! How did you manage that?'

‘Just a word in the ear of a friend. It's OK, isn't it? I thought it would create a bit of interest in advance.'

‘Well in advance!' Rona said. ‘So far, I haven't written a single word.'

‘At least it'll warn off anyone else whose thoughts might have been turning in the same direction.'

‘It was a kind thought, Barnie. Thanks.'

Meriel Harvey had also seen the item, and hers was the third phone call that morning. ‘Does this mean you're ready to go ahead?' she asked excitedly.

‘Almost,' Rona told her, ‘but the timing of the piece is pure coincidence; I didn't know anything about it till I read it myself. Still, I'm posting off the signed contract today, after which I'll be free to begin.'

‘Excellent. Then perhaps you could come out again, and we could make a start? And please do stay for lunch this time; I'm sure there'll be more than a morning's work ahead of us. Would tomorrow be convenient?'

Rona hesitated, taken aback by the immediacy of the invitation. She normally allowed herself a week or two to prepare for a new biography, using the time to ease herself into the mindset of it by roughly planning its shape, drawing up schedules of interviews, and, on a more mundane level, ensuring that she had adequate stocks of paper and spare cartridges. In this instance, she'd also determined to finish reading Harvey's novels. On the other hand, it was as well not to dampen his widow's enthusiasm.

A little unwillingly, she said, ‘Thank you, yes. That would be – fine.'

‘I look forward to seeing you, then.'

Rona turned from the phone to the dog lying at her feet. ‘I'm not going to be allowed to hang about, Gus!' she told him humorously. ‘Come on, let's go to the park. I need a good blow to get my thoughts in order.'

The Gallery Café was reached via a black iron staircase on Guild Street, next to the doorway of Willows' Fine Furniture. As a puppy, Gus had mistrusted the open steps, but now he galloped up them confidently, pulling Rona behind him. Though the walkway above housed several specialist shops, the Gallery held pride of place since, like the furniture store below it, it rounded the corner from Guild Street to Fullers Walk, thus offering its patrons a choice of view. Max was already seated at a window table, and rose to kiss her as she joined him.

‘What did you think of the newspaper article?' he asked her, as she sat down and Gus made his way under the table.

‘A little unnerving. It turned out to be Barnie's doing; “A word in the ear of a friend.”'

‘Well, it's certainly announced your undertaking to all and sundry.'

Rona looked at him closely. ‘You sound less than enthusiastic.'

He shrugged. ‘I just wish it hadn't implied you might come up with an answer on his death.'

‘For pity's sake, Max!'

‘Well, if you remember, that was my main reservation about your taking it on.'

‘But he
drowned,
for God's sake! What's so mysterious about that?'

‘It was an open verdict, remember.'

‘You're not suggesting there was something suspicious about it, are you?'

‘Not suspicious, so much as “unexplained”, as the article put it.' He passed her the menu. ‘You'd better decide what you'd like; the waitress passes this way but once.'

She glanced at it. ‘Salmon fishcakes with dill sauce,' she said, ‘and a spritzer.' She looked up at him. ‘Is that why we're having lunch? So you can voice your apprehension?'

‘No, we're having lunch because I've finished what I set myself this morning, because I know you're between jobs, and because I wanted to see my wife.'

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

He smiled. ‘How well you know me! All right, also because I've something interesting to tell you.' He paused. ‘Guess who I saw yesterday afternoon?'