THE MAN WALKED across the fields to the back of the house with a supermarket carrier bag containing bed linen in one hand and two pieces of wood in the other. He saw no-one this fine Sunday morning. The cottage was quite isolated with no near neighbours and the occupants had been seen to have been safely making their way to the local church ten minutes previously and would be away at least another hour or longer. Moreover, the girl who lived here and the man’s son also staying here for the time being were safely away in France; so he had been told by his little helper.
The man stopped at the boundary hedge and looked around again. Using the two pieces of wood, he proceeded to make a gap in the hedge big enough to get through without snagging his clothes and he pushed his way through the gap, confident that no stray fibres would be left on the foliage to identify him or his clothing. He left the wood on the ground to use on his return journey. He also took his shoes off and left them under the hedge.
He hurried up the garden to the house trying to avoid anything sharp underfoot pulling on a pair of examination gloves as he went. Pausing at the back of the house he pulled a protective polythene industrial oversuit still in its packet from the carrier, tore the packet open and removed the suit putting the packet in his trouser pocket. He quickly donned the suit, putting the hood up. He pulled a polythene over-shoe onto each of his stockinged feet.
The man had a key. Apart from the front door by which he’d previously entered when he had visited the owner, there was a door at the side of the house and another door at the very back. He looked first at the back door but the keyhole was large and old-fashioned. The copy key he had had cut from a key “borrowed” from a member of the household by his little helper definitely wouldn't open that. He went round to the side door hoping he wouldn't have to try the front door in full view of the road but the side door had a yale lock which looked about right. He put his key to the opening and there was a degree of resistance even though he’d applied some oil to it. Turning it left and right he gradually worked it fully into the lock and turned it.
He was conscious of his heavy breathing though his actions weren’t especially strenuous. He swallowed nervously peering back over his shoulder. He was trying to be as quiet as possible just in case and that applied to his breathing as well, but it seemed extra loud to him in the still quiet hot country air. Without realising it he was leaning on the door. It suddenly gave way and he almost fell into the kitchen.
He looked back at the garden and the fields beyond and, still seeing no movement or sign of life at all, he quickly shut the door. He stood and waited a few minutes listening, but the house was still, quiet and blessedly cooler than outside. He walked through the open door at the other end of the kitchen and into a hall making his way towards the back of the house through a series of twists and doorways that seemed out of place but he had gathered from the appearance of the house having driven past many times both on legitimate business and out of voyeuristic curiosity, that the property fairly obviously used to be two semi-detached houses.
He reached a passage which ended with a plain rather old door which must, he reasoned, be the back door he had first come to. There were two rooms off to his left. Peeping into one he saw it was an old WC with some girly looking toiletries on the old-fashioned sink. The second door was half open. He pushed at it and craned his neck round. He saw immediately his son’s painting on the wall opposite but everything else about it suggested that this was a girl’s room and he had it on good authority that the girl did have a room on the ground floor at the back of the house. He gave a small smile of satisfaction and went in to make sure. He would think about the painting later. He checked the clothes in the makeshift wardrobe. All girl’s clothes. He opened the drawers of the bedside table and saw a muddle of makeup and more toiletries.
Satisfied, he stripped the sheets and pillow cases from the bed and replaced them with those he had brought with him in the black plastic bag. He had washed them with the same detergent he knew the lady of the house usually used and put the bed linen removed into his bin bag to take away.
The man had made a number of assumptions based on his knowledge over many years of the habits of the lady of the house and his prejudices in relation to the man with whom the lady was living. The owner was of a type who would be bound to have a hair brush stowed neatly on his dressing table or similar or if not there would be hairs on his pillow.
The man crept upstairs, opened the various doors off the landing and peered in. Only one room contained a double bed and signs and unmistakable smells of recent occupation. The man’s eyes narrowed in anger but he controlled his urges to simply trash the room and leave and instead he walked around it. He opened the wardrobe and saw the woman’s clothes. He touched them with his gloved hands and felt their softness through the thin plastic.
But he had a specific aim in mind and shut the wardrobe door. Sure enough, he saw a man’s hairbrush on the dressing table in front of the window. A hairbrush of a style you seldom came across nowadays, perhaps because so many men shaved their heads now, but also perhaps because no-one but the sort of pansy his wife had chosen to go off with used such out of date grooming devices these days. Whatever, he went to it and pulled hairs out of the bristles, mixed black, grey and white thickish fairly short men’s hairs. Clearly the hair of the man of the house. He put them for the time being in a small empty plastic bag he had with him.
Knowing the customs of the lady of the house, there was a further item he hoped to find somewhere not too far removed. Despite the picture of a domestic sloven he had tried to paint of his wife to Don, he knew of old that the lady of the house was actually neat and clean in her habits and wouldn't want bodily fluids, his or hers, to soil the sheets they slept in. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for. He went to the bathroom next door and saw a small bin in the corner in addition to a larger linen bin. In the small bin were a number of sanitary bags containing rolled up sanitary pads or napkins. He took them out and unrolled them. To make sure he put them to his nose. The scent was unmistakable and again he quelled his anger.
He walked out and, moving quickly now, he went back down to the room of the girl. He pulled a small amount of the hair out of the plastic bag and placed odd strands of it on, under and around the pillow. He smeared the pads over the sheets on the bed at about groin level and then took the pads up to the bathroom and put them back in the small bin in their bags.
The man glanced at his watch and noted that he had at least another half hour before the man and woman would return but if he had learned anything about attempting to pervert the course of any kind of justice, it was to keep it simple. Don't push it. Don't chance it. Do what you could and get out as quickly as possible. Don't try to be too clever. Therefore he let himself out of the house and locked up. He returned the same way he’d come, through the hedge taking the pieces of wood with him and removing the gloves, suit and bags over his shoes after he had walked a reasonable distance. He put them in the bin bag with the bed linen he had removed from the girl’s bed to burn in the brazier when he got home and then bury somewhere.
WHILST DON’S HOME was being invaded without his knowledge, he knelt and considered the events of the past week. He had thought he wasn't too unreasonable a man but now he was having to doubt that. If only he had made more of an effort to support Emma when she first arrived home, to put himself in her position, her mother having died so shortly before she returned. But instead he’d presented her with the worst possible welcome and since that happened, he hadn't even apologised to her. How could he have been so crass! Even Grace, not even Emma’s parent, had noted how unreasonable he had been. He wondered what had come over him.
Of course everything had happened quite quickly or so it had seemed to him at the time, event piling on top of event. Carol had died in late January. He had been totally shell-shocked by it even though it was completely expected. He had known what it would be like but still a death was elemental, one of the basics of life, even more so than a birth since at least the person was already alive at birth before they emerged, whereas the deceased was alive one instant and dead the next and there was nothing whatever to put between the two moments. You couldn't understand it. One second calling for pain relief and then suddenly falling asleep apparently and then, when he’d checked, dead. No life left. He didn't believe in a life after death so that meant that Carol was gone for good and it was very hard to assimilate.
As it was a weekday, he had called the doctor’s surgery not knowing what else to do and they had thankfully sent someone round to certify death. He had called funeral directors because that was what you did and it was a struggle to avoid a church service but he insisted and after a post mortem and inquest, which was apparently necessary in the circumstances of Carol’s death and which he had sleep-walked through, Carol’s body had been cremated with only him and Emma and a few of Carol’s close relatives present plus one or two very old friends whom he hadn't seen for years. Even the cremation appeared to have to be preceded by some form of religious service conducted by a man who knew nothing about Carol but had been given a few facts which he had embellished and trotted out as though he was a life-long friend of the deceased.
Don supposed he should have made more of an effort, contacted people they had both known years ago, put an advert in the local papers and organised a proper funeral service and a wake. He had the few mourners round to the house afterwards for an hour or so for a cup of tea and some cakes he’d bought but that was all. He had felt completely drained and totally inadequate to the task and so had woken up a week or so after the cremation to the fact that his wife whom he had cared for for decades was gone and that he had to start making some sort of life for himself again or just succumb to numb depression.
He had no hobbies or activities to fall back on therefore he decided to start going to church again and the first Sunday he did so, he saw that Grace was there sitting in the front row lit by a sunbeam like an angel, pure and lovely. He realised he had half forgotten about her during his ordeal. But he went as usual before to the tea after the service, getting sympathy from the other worshippers when they learned what had happened. In a daze, he had spoken to Grace once she was less busy. She had looked at him and seemed to know what he was experiencing. She had offered her sympathy and it had seemed very genuine. You couldn't, he thought, expect any more from someone you hardly knew.
In the weeks that followed, he had started to feel more robust. His ordeal after all was over. He should make an effort to pursue some hobbies and make something of his life as he had only the one life. He started to research possible activities locally on the internet which might interest him. Things that he might do in the community now that he had the time. Grace at church however was subdued and Don had watched her with concern but she conveyed nothing during their brief talks in the little tea room behind the church. On Easter Sunday, as he was being served his tea and biscuits, he had seen as Grace unthinkingly pulled up the sleeves of her jumper that she had deep black bruises on both of her forearms. Don had stopped breathing for a time when he saw them and stood there not moving along just looking at the marks. Grace had quickly pulled her sleeves down and pointedly looked away and Don had felt that he shouldn't interfere and say anything but he was very upset nonetheless. Grace, who had looked tired and drawn, hadn't come over to talk to him that Sunday as she often did after the rush died down.
The following Sunday, Grace wasn't at the church. Don asked one of the other women where she was but just got a shrug in reply. Grace still wasn't there the week after and Don started to feel seriously worried. Surely the people here, these so-called Christians, would make some effort to help one of their number who might be in distress but it appeared not.
The vicar only came into the tea room for a short time. Don could understand why. He probably had enough on his plate without being regaled with the concerns of three quarters of the worshipping parish every Sunday morning. But that morning, Don had cornered him and asked about Grace. The vicar had no idea. People came and went. Grace had only been coming for about nine months and that was sometimes what happened. They decided it wasn't for them and stopped coming. Don said he thought that wasn't the case with Grace and so the vicar had said that he should ask Cynthia Anstruther who dealt with the tea and flower arranging rotas and other things. But Cynthia had left already therefore Don had had to go round to her house the next day, not wanting to intrude on her at home on a Sunday. Cynthia again had known very little about Grace and Don, standing at the open front door and feeling fairly unwelcome not having been invited in, had been on the point of leaving when he’d thought to ask if Cynthia knew where Grace worked. Cynthia had treated the information as something of a state secret; she hadn't wanted to impart anything confidential. But when Don had said rather tersely that he very much felt that Grace needed someone’s help and he didn't feel that any of the rest of the congregation had actually lifted a finger to offer any help, Cynthia had looked rather guilty and had given the name of a firm of insurance brokers in the town whom she thought Grace worked for.
Accordingly the same afternoon, Don had been to the broker’s office and had been told that Grace was off sick for the time being and they couldn't give out any address or other details. Don realised he didn't even know Grace’s surname but they wouldn't even tell him that, and so he had been back to Cynthia and in his own gentle way he’d shamed her into giving him the information together with Grace’s address. You could hardly go looking for someone when you only knew their first name.
FEELING A COMPLETE idiot, Don had spent three days in his car parked along the road from the house where Grace apparently lived. It was a large detached house in a small cul-de-sac of similar homes which looked quite newly built in a style that seemed to be universal these days, but attractive nonetheless. Because it was a cul-de-sac, Don felt it would have been too conspicuous to have parked in the actual road and anyway it looked from the paved surface as though it might be a private road for residents and their visitors only. Therefore he had parked his car on the main road a short distance from the mouth of the cul-de-sac and waited and watched the various comings and goings, young, middle-aged and elderly people on foot, on bicyles and in cars, their deliveries, other visitors, the postman.
On the first day he saw the husband drive past him and into the cul-de-sac. Don knew what sort of car the husband drove and roughly what he looked like from his occasional visits to collect Grace from church. The man looked serious and rather cross. But Grace wasn't in the car and Don saw no sign of her at all coming to or going from her home. He stayed until about nine in the evening by which time he judged it would probably be too late for Grace if she was at home to go out anywhere so he decided to call it a day. And the call of nature had become very pressing indeed by then.
The following day was just as fruitless. He chanced a trip to the pub along the road at lunchtime and bought a bottle of soft drink to take away and eat with his sandwiches and was able to use the toilet there. It entered his head to ask about Grace Bennett but he decided against it. By mid-afternoon he was starting to think about getting out of his car and accosting those on foot and asking for information about Grace Bennett but he judged that it would raise suspicions and abandoned the idea. He didn't want anyone calling the police, thereby attracting more attention to himself and having to account for his movements, let alone the husband being alerted, coming after him and taking him to task.
The other idea he had was to go round to the back of the small estate and observe the house from the rear. There were only fields at the back so far as he could see from the road but no obvious way into them, no gate or stile. No sign of any public footpath and the rear fences of the properties looked to be about six feet tall or more so he scotched that idea too. That evening the husband drove up as he had the evening before but then came out again on foot and Don watched him disappear off down the road towards the more built up area nearby. Don could see him in the distance entering the pub he’d been to that lunchtime himself and he was glad he hadn't asked about Grace. It was already eight p.m. and there’d been no sign of Grace. Don couldn't see any point waiting around any longer and left for the day. He decided he’d give it one more day and then give up.
The following day, he decided that it was ridiculous not to simply walk to the front door and knock or ring the bell and this he did. He rang the bell several times but no-one came to the door. He resisted bending down and looking through the letterbox or putting his ear to it, but he did stand very still as close to the door as he dared but he heard nothing. No sounds of movement or any activity. He went back to his car. He didn't even see the husband coming home that evening and, disheartened, he left at seven thirty.
He drove back home, wondering what to do. He was fairly disgusted with the church and its lukewarm response to a member’s possible difficulties. He seemed to recall that Grace had mentioned a local horticultural society that she belonged to and looking the organisation up on the internet, he saw as chance would have it that there was a meeting that evening. The information said newcomers welcome. He wouldn’t be on tile for it but if he skipped an evening meal, he could make it before eight thirty therefore not so very late. He returned to his car and raced off in the direction of the next village. He heard the sound of a loud booming female voice from inside the hall and he let himself in trying to make as little noise as possible. He took a vacant seat in the back row.
It was quite dim in the hall with the blinds down as the speaker held forth about the care of azaleas and other acid loving plants and pointed periodically at a screen displaying photographs of showy red and pink rhododendron bushes and smaller plants in containers. Don scanned the heads in front of him but Grace wasn't there. However during the break for tea, as had happened when he had first attended the church services, this group were also interested in him, how keen a gardener he was and whether he might attend again and become a member. When asked how he had heard about the group, he took a chance and said that his friend Grace Bennett had told him but he didn't say anything about her having disappeared.
He had ended up speaking to a man who organised some of the outings and he again mentioned Grace and they got chatting. Don didn't go in much for small talk but he did his level best and expressed great interest in everything the man had to say. He was told about a garden which the group had visited on their last outing after which they’d gone as they often did to have dinner at a pub and Grace’s brother who only lived in the next village had joined them. Naturally he couldn't remember the brother’s name but he named the village. Though it was frustrating, Don felt it inappropriate to pointedly ask for any more information.
The next day, Don had travelled to the village which was twenty five miles away and, prepared to throw caution to the winds by this stage, he simply went round knocking on doors. If he got arrested, well he’d just have to say what his purpose was and he knew of no law which forbade asking about someone’s whereabouts. Unfortunately the village was spread out with no clear nucleus. It was a mixture of new and older properties and just a few very old timbered houses. He realised with a sinking heart that it was likely to take him most of the day, if not two days.
He decided on a pub lunch himself this time and took his meal at a small corner table. Gone were the days when he might have propped up the bar enjoying a pie and a pint and carried on a conversation with the landlord learning all about the village and its inhabitants. Like many pubs these days, it was done out in pastel colours with sanded waxed tables, unmatched chairs and sanded pale floorboards. It served small expensive portions of unnecessarily complicated sounding dishes and was staffed almost entirely by young cheerful people in or barely out of their teens. And being a Friday lunchtime, it was packed.
Still there were a number of what looked like locals standing at the bar looking wholly out of place and once Don had eaten his single course meal (more than one course would have emptied his wallet), and that didn't take long, he went and stood at the bar himself. Sipping the remains of his drink, he asked openly if any of them knew a man who lived in the village who was the brother of a woman called Grace Bennett.
They scratched their heads at this. So this woman Bennett would be the man’s sister, they asked. Don said that that was so, trying not to sound exasperated. So would the man be called Bennett too? Probably not, said Don as Grace was married. So, they asked, where did this man live? Don sighed and said he had no idea. The man would probably be aged in the region of fifty. That was the only information he could provide himself. Maybe one of them could remember a fair-haired woman coming to stay with a family in the village in the last couple of weeks. The men had looked at each other and shrugged elaborately. They had muttered, shook their heads and turned their mouths down. Don offered his thanks, downed his drink and left.
Disheartened, he decided to carry on anyway but if he continued to get nowhere, he would just have to go and stake out Grace’s office and hope that she went back to work eventually. Getting into his car, he drove to a section of the village where there had obviously been a spate of new house building. It didn't look hopeful. There was little sign of life and the first person who answered was an older man who kept his chain on the door, peered at Don through a six inch gap and quickly sent him away. He got little or no response from the next dozen properties and he decided he’d give it another half an hour and then give up. He inwardly cursed the church for their lack of interest in a member’s situation. If Grace had disappeared, then it must be something serious and he pictured the dark bruises on her arms and her forlorn expression the last time he’d seen her.
As he rang the next door bell and waited, he turned round and faced the road. A woman was coming out of a house opposite. She was on foot and was carrying some sort of textiles in her arms in front of her. She looked about the right age; perhaps mid-forties to mid-fifties. It was so much more difficult to tell with women than with men what with dyed hair and skilfully applied makeup. The bell-ringing was eliciting no response therefore he crossed the road quickly and excused himself to the woman but, he said, he was interested in trying to locate Grace Bennett whose brother he believed lived in the village. He saw immediately in the woman’s face that she knew who he was talking about. However she was guarded and asked why he wanted to know. He decided that the truth would be the best policy and told her that he attended the same church as Grace, that she seemed to have disappeared and that he was worried about her. He wanted to find her to see if she was all right. The woman looked directly into his eyes across the folded up fabric as he told her this and was then silent for many seconds.
“She’s my sister-in-law,” she said eventually. Don swallowed. Would she tell him anything else, he wondered.
“Could you tell me where she is. I just want to make sure she’s OK.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Don Morrison.” He stopped and fished a business card for his web design company out of his anorak pocket. The card bore both his home number and his mobile number as well as his website, email and home addresses. It also had printed on it his own name and his trading name. He put the card on top of the pile of fabric in her arms and the woman scrutinised it.
“If you know where she is, maybe you could ask her to get in touch with me.”
“Well she’s not here, but I don't really think I should say where she is. My husband’s not here. He might be prepared to tell you but he’s at work.” She swallowed looking worried.
“Is Grace all right?” Don asked, frowning.
“She’s safe anyway, I think, we think.”
Don was alarmed. “She hasn’t been hurt has she?” he blurted out.
“As I say, she’s all right now, for the time being we think.”
“Would you keep my card and if you’re in touch with her, could you ask her to contact me if she wants to. Please.” He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a second business card. “Here would you take a second one in case….I don't know….just to be on the safe side.” He placed it with the first card.
“I’ll speak to my husband when he gets home.”
“Yes of course,” Don said. He couldn't ask any more. He couldn't be more insistent. It would be rude; the woman might become frightened. He had to hope the couple would tell Grace about him and pass on his details to her. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been very kind. I’ll let you get on. Goodbye.”
The woman muttered goodbye and he could feel her eyes watching him as he walked back across the street and got into his battered old bone-shaker, not in itself an especially great advert. He put his hand up to her as he drove past her. He saw that she was now clutching the cloth under one arm and was apparently putting his cards in her own pocket. She took her hand out and waved briefly to him.
Don drove home hoping he had made a reasonable impression. Maybe Grace’s brother and sister-in-law would go on his website, see the photograph of him there and read his background, that he was an ex-barrister, and look at the various reviews left by his clients. He would make a point of diverting his calls to his mobile every time he left the house, keeping his mobile charged up, trying not to be in areas where there was a poor signal. Or perhaps Grace would contact him by email. He would check emails religiously from now on.
THE CALL HAD come much sooner than he might have hoped. He was in bed. He had his mobile on his bedside table and he had diverted the home `phone line to the mobile. It rang insistently at about eleven thirty that night. He hadn't been in bed for long and wasn't asleep. He grabbed the `phone and answered. Relief flooded through him at hearing her voice. All sorts of emotions assailed him but it was difficult as they weren't well acquainted.
He asked how she was and she said that she was all right and was staying in a flat owned by a friend of her brother’s but she couldn't stay much longer as the friend wanted to let it permanently. Don hesitated and then said that that must mean that she wasn't with her husband any longer. Grace confirmed that this was true. Don swallowed, took the plunge and asked if they could meet and she agreed, quite readily it seemed to him. They arranged to meet at a pub near the flat she was occupying lunchtime the following day which was a Saturday.
IT WAS ANOTHER gastro-pub of course. They all seemed to be now. Those that you went into that weren't, were pretty down at heel, in need of redecoration, often in fact quite dirty. He had his credit card with him this time and bought them both lunch and Grace told him her story. It was simple enough. Her son Luke who lived at home was away for Easter. She was sick and tired of her husband Greg’s extra-marital activities and she took the opportunity of Luke’s absence to ask Greg if he would please leave and go and live somewhere else. With perhaps his PA Cindy. Greg had laughed at her and told her she was cracking up and talking complete rubbish as usual. The company’s medical insurance would pay for her to go and see a shrink. He wasn't going anywhere.
All right then, said Grace, I’ll leave if you won't.
Over his and her own dead body, said Greg. If she tried to set foot out of the house, he would personally stop her. If she left when he wasn't there, he would track her down and make her come back. He’d get her certified as the delusional nutter she clearly was. She would never escape from him. They were intended for each other and that was how if would remain. If all else failed then he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. She had nowhere to go anyway. Who’d have a nutter in their house, someone who was paranoid and imagined things the whole time. If she left he would stop her using their joint credit cards, he would freeze the bank accounts and have his income paid into a different account. She wouldn't get a penny out of him. He would take steps to try and get her sacked from her job. She’d have to live on the streets. If she went to her brother’s, Greg would get the place torched. He knew people who would do this for him, people he had something on who would do it for him without anyone ever being able to prove any connection to him and who could do it without leaving any trace back to themselves.
She had scoffed at that and said she didn't have to listen to this, calling him an adulterer. She had left the room, gone upstairs and started to heave suitcases from off the top of the wardrobe intending to bundle her clothes into them and leave there and then and go to her brother’s house. But Greg had followed her upstairs. He had grabbed her by the arms and held her firmly as she struggled. You can't do this to me, she had said. But he took no notice. Her arms and hands she noticed were going numb and, looking at Greg’s crazed expression, she started to scream.
“Shut up woman,” he had hissed at her and when she didn't he had let go of her arms and had swiped her viciously across the side of her head with the back of his hand, the force of the blow throwing her across the room where she collapsed onto the floor and lay there completely stunned not just physically but mentally too that this should have happened. I’m entitled to leave you if I want to, she had wanted to say but she just lay there whimpering quietly unable to take it all in.
“Drunk again!” Greg had sneered from the bedroom door and stormed off downstairs.
Grace said she had towed the line after that and had tried to make Greg think she was going to stay with him. She was too ashamed to tell Don that that night, Greg had forced her to have sex with him. She had thought about going to the police about it the next day, going to see a Solicitor to get an injunction against him, but she felt that she wouldn't be believed. She had tentatively called a few firms of Solicitors the following day while at work and been told that the usual initial payment on account for that sort of thing was at least £1,000 minimum and that her income was borderline for getting legal aid. The timeframes quoted also seemed excessive for someone who needed her problems to be dealt with and to go away there and then and that she might have to stay in the house with her husband until a court date could be obtained. And then of course she might not get her order.
At church on the Sunday, Easter Sunday, she had been relieved to get out of the house. Greg had insisted on taking and collecting her that day. She knew Don had seen her bruises and she had felt ashamed.
“Oh Grace!” Don had said to her across the table, their meal over, drinking their coffee.
The next day was Easter Monday and she had to keep up the pretence at home. Luke was still away for another week and on the Tuesday she had gone to work as usual, she had spoken to her boss and then returned home. She had bundled her clothes into the suitcases, more clothes and other things into bin bags and she had dumped in her car as many articles of hers as she could, paperwork, bank statements, laptop, PC, printer, CDs, favourite DVDs and books, and she had taken herself off to her brother Edward’s home. She hadn't dared to tell her brother and sister-in-law that she would be turning up in case they wouldn't agree or told Greg.
They were both there as Edward had the week off work and they were looking after their grandchildren. It seemed only fair to mention Greg’s threats to torch the house if she was there. Obviously her brother was beside himself. He made a few calls and said he had found her a small studio flat of a friend she could stay in for three or four weeks max. He made her promise to make it clear to Greg if she had any contact with him that she wasn't staying with Edward nor with anyone connected to Edward and not to go to work or anywhere near her home until this thing died down. Edward made her get straight back in her car and follow him to the accommodation where he met his friend and the key was handed over. Nothing was said about Grace’s circumstances.
“I’ll owe you,” Edward had said to his friend.
“So,” Grace had said to Don, “I’ve been holed up in the little flat for the last three weeks. How did you find me? I don't think you even know my surname.”
He smiled. “With difficulty,” he said.
“Thank you. For finding me.” Again their eyes had met. He knew for certain now that he loved her and wanted her. His cheeks reddened as he said, “If you have to leave the flat, or even if you didn't, you’re very welcome to come and stay with me. I mean at my house. I don't see why Greg should find you there.”
“So you don't mind risking your house being torched by an irate husband?” Grace said softly.
“I would,” he said, “risk many things to be with you.”
Grace had nodded. “Er, it would take me only a short time to pack.”
“Today then.”
“Yes, all right today. Do you want to follow me back?” He had paid the bill, they had left, he had helped her take her possessions to her car and she had put her key through the flat’s letterbox. Very soon they were on the dual carriageway back to the next county and to Don’s home.
They had hidden her car in his garage and he had given her Emma’s room for the time being, but that night she came into his bedroom and slept with him.
RECALLING ALL THIS in the glorious surroundings of the old church, Don reached for and took Grace’s hand and he said a little prayer to whoever for their continued happy life together.