Aussie Heiress

Aussie Heiress By Jamie Phillips

Aussie Heiress By Jamie Phillips

A Newsite Web Services Book Published by arrangement with the author

All rights reserved. Copyright 2006 © by Jamie Phillips This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission of the author or Newsite Web Services, LLC Published by Newsite Web Services, LLC P.O. Box 1286, Loganville, Georgia 30052 USA [email protected] disciplineanddesire.com

Prologue 25 November 1944 Adie hurried round the corner of the old stone wall, eager to be back at Cheney House, and almost ran into the Policeman who was trying to keep warm by striding around the half-circle entranceway. "Sorry, luv," he said, "you can’t go in." He stepped in front of her, barring her path and her view. Adie tried to see round him, concerned at this interruption so near to the end of her journey, but sure it didn’t apply to her. She was almost family, soon would be when Joss got some time away from bombing Germany. And the little one, who made her queasy each morning, was definitely ‘family’. She grinned at the thought. "What’s up?" she asked. "Bombed out," the policeman said, "surprised you didn’t hear it." He obviously thought she was a village girl who worked at the House and she wanted to put him right, only she had to keep on his good side to find out where Joss’s Mum and Dad were. Joss would want her to look after them, particularly if they were badly injured. Joss would want her to visit the hospital and keep him informed and look after their affairs if they couldn’t. "Where have the family gone?" she asked. "They were good people, looked after the poor and that, though I don’t hold with helping unmarried women who get themselves pregnant, so they’ve probably gone to a good place," he said with ponderous humor. "Are they dead?" "Aye, though there are fewer bodies than were supposed to be in the house. Some of them are just gone, blown to bits." Adie considered this. She’d only recently met

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Joss’s parents and she knew they didn’t approve of her so she couldn’t understand her feelings. Her heart hurt and tears pricked her eyes; her baby would never know its grandparents were the thoughts that boomed in her head. "Why would anyone drop bombs here?" she wondered aloud. "It’s not like there’s anything worth bombing." "Maybe one of them sluts who couldn’t keep her legs together was just as careless about keeping the blackout curtains together," the man replied coldly, "or maybe Jerry just didn’t want to get into all the flak over Liverpool, dropped his load early and ran for it." Adie glared at him, angry at his sneering description of the unmarried mothers Sir Thomas and Lady Maud cared for. She was glad she wasn’t ‘showing’ yet or the man would have thought she was one of them. You’d have thought having some poor soldier’s baby would have been a public service, something to be proud of when the men were fighting for freedom and likely to be killed without ever having had the chance for a proper family, but no, everyone sneered and ostracized the girls. Thank God, she had Jocelyn. She shivered. Without his love and support, she’d be another unwed mother on her way to a home full of desperate teenage failures. "Where have they taken the bodies?" "Graves Brothers, on the High Street," the policeman said. "Actually, if you can identify any of them we need you to do that. My sergeant lives in the Police house just past their place. Call in if you can help." Adie nodded. "I will," she said, a little frightened by what she might have to see but steeling herself knowing that the war had finally called on her to play an important part and determined not to shirk it. Joss had to face far worse than this every dark, clear night. "But I didn’t really know anyone other than Sir Thomas and Lady Maud."

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It was worse than she thought and she was grateful for the Sergeant’s offer of hot sweet tea, though drinking it made her nausea worse. She fought to keep command of her stomach and won sufficiently well to take notice and plan. "Can I call my fiancé from here," she asked. "He should be told about his parents." "I’m sure the authorities will be getting in touch with him," the Sergeant said. "It will be better from someone he knows," Adie replied, wanting to add ‘and loves’ but her courage failed her at saying those highly charged words in such a setting. "He’ll also want to know I’m alive." The Sergeant led her to his office and handed her the phone. He didn’t leave the room, official phones were for official business and it was his job to see that’s what it was used for. Adie dialed the base’s number and heard it ringing far away in Yorkshire. The usual man who answered the phone said, "Driffield." "Can I speak to Squadron Leader Jocelyn de Cheney, please? It’s Adie." "I’m sorry," the man said, his normally friendly tone seemed colder today, "Squadron Leader de Cheney isn’t here at the moment. Can I take a message?" "Has he gone home?" Adie asked. "That’s what I’m phoning about. Was he told about his home being bombed?" "We did get that message but Squadron Leader de Cheney…" the man stopped, then said, "I shouldn’t tell you this because you’re not really a relative but, since I know who you are and Joss introduced us only a week ago, I will. Joss has been missing-in-action since the night before last." The nausea Adie had been fighting returned. She dropped the phone and fled back into the kitchen to retch in the sink. Dimly, she heard the Sergeant speaking to the air base man, she couldn’t even remember his name she’d met so many people when she’d been with Joss, and then he put down

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the receiver. Adie turned on the cold tap to flush away the mess, rinse her face, and hide her tears. "I’m sorry to be such a nuisance," Adie said as brightly as she could, when the Sergeant joined her in the kitchen. She tidied the sink and dried her hands. She couldn’t stop the tears and didn’t try. "Don’t worry about it, Miss," the Sergeant said gently, "you’ve had a nasty shock. You’d best lie down for a while, then we can decide what’s to be done." "I don’t need to lie down," Adie said, "and I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to Driffield and I’m going to wait for news about Joss. They’ll hear first, now his Mum and Dad are dead." "You can’t go there," the sergeant said. "They won’t let you stay on the base." "Then I’ll sit outside the gates till they get word," Adie said. And that’s what she did until the Commander promised to phone her when they heard what had happened to Joss, even though she wasn’t really ‘family’, but word never came. It was as if Joss just disappeared. Adie questioned others in the squadron and pieced together the last few minutes of A for Adie, the name he’d given his Lancaster for luck. The picture of his plane, one wing on fire, sliding out of the sky until it was lost in the smoke billowing from the burning city filled her mind with dread, day and night. She couldn’t sleep or eat. She couldn’t return to work until she knew -- but she never knew. Adie continued hoping until the war ended and Joss wasn’t among the posted lists of the liberated prisoners-of-war. With an aching heart, she packed him away with her other wartime memories. Her bulging belly, however, couldn’t be packed, and Adie was a soon-to-be single mother in a worn-out, shattered country with a half a million too few men for the women left behind. It was fortunate for her that George Wade was handsome, rich and desperately in love, even though she was carrying

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some one else’s child… 2 June 1997 "Colin," Tracy snapped, "you’re a nice man but you’re a prat. I’ve been screwing Zak, and him me, for months now and you haven’t even noticed. Do you see me at all? Do you know I’m here? Christ, to get your attention I’d need to be dead and buried a hundred years ago!" Stung by the vehemence of her attack, Colin’s normally pale face burned red. Tracy’s contempt was as hard to bear as the murderous fury that blazed in her eyes. He couldn’t believe he was the cause of such emotion. He’d been so gentle with her, even pretending he knew nothing about Zak to give her time to get him out of her system. "You don’t have to leave…" he began. "I don’t have to," Tracy yelled as she tore up the stairs to pack, "I want to!" Colin watched her behind rolling sensuously in her too tight skirt as she turned the corner and disappeared from view into their bedroom. In his world, the world he would have liked to live in, a hundred or more years ago, he’d have been the master of this house and he’d have taken a horsewhip to Tracy’s curvaceous backside and nobody would have cared. Quite the opposite, they’d have applauded him for doing the right thing. Strangely enough, there was an echo of that in Tracy’s own words. Her contempt, her determination to leave was because he had done nothing, not because he’d abused her. And what would our modern lawmakers say to that, he thought smugly? He felt vindicated in his attachment to the past. People didn’t change, only ideas did and, in Colin’s view, there hadn’t been any good ideas since Queen Victoria died. He waited in the hall till Tracy re-appeared with her cases, bumping them down the steps like a doom-laden drumbeat. They faced each other

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briefly and Colin knew this was the moment, either he put her across his knee or he stepped aside and she was gone forever. He stepped aside. Even if she could have been corrected by a spanking, they just weren’t suited. "I want a divorce right away," Tracy said as she strode down the path to Zak’s waiting car. Sixteen months later, she had her divorce but, as Colin heard from mutual friends, it wasn’t quick enough. Zak had skipped town before it was final and Tracy was out trawling again. When she left a message on his answering machine saying she wanted to get back together, Colin decided it was time to take that long trip he’d been planning for the Millennium. Originally he’d thought of Italy or Greece, somewhere where the past was beautiful, but now Australia beckoned. It was the neat twist on history that appealed to him, once folks were sent to Australia to lock them up but he was going ‘down under’ to escape and to celebrate his continued freedom. He erased Tracy’s message and called the travel agent.

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Chapter One Colin let the other passengers board the bus, waving the women forward with a wry smile. There wasn’t anyone under ninety and he appeared to be the only man. Men were the luckier sex he thought gloomily, as he watched the women tottering up the bus steps; their reward for putting up with women’s foibles over fifty years was an early release. Women’s reward for fifty years of putting up with men was twenty years of staring out of windows in the company of other women. Already, he was regretting signing up for this last excursion. He should have stayed in Sydney and explored the city for his final few days or rented a car and driven himself instead of spending two days in a bus touring the Blue Mountains and Opal Fields. What was he thinking of? It should have been obvious the coach would be full of pensioners. British bus tours always were; why would Australian ones be different? "No need to rush, ladies," the tour guide called from the bus doorway, her yellow uniform jacket glowing in the bright sun, "there’s a seat for everyone." Colin rather hoped not. He hoped they’d overbooked and he could gracefully withdraw and get his money back. "Mr. Redesdale?" the guide asked, looking at him quizzically as though doubting his existence. "Yes," said Colin, his heart sinking. If she knew his name, it was probably because he was the only man on the bus. "You’re a lucky man," she said with a slightly malicious grin. "You have what every red-blooded male dreams of, being surrounded by beautiful women and no competition." The few remaining pensioners waiting to board the bus eyed him suspiciously, twittering like birds with a cat on the prowl nearby. Colin smiled weakly and handed his case to the

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driver who stowed it into the vast hold that ran almost the length of the coach. He stepped into the bus, looked down the length of its aisle, which was bordered by white and blue rinsed perms, and thought for one glorious moment his wish had come true. He couldn’t see a spare seat. "There’s a seat right at the back, Mr. Redesdale," said the guide brightly, motioning him on like a Tricoteuse at the foot of the guillotine. Colin stumbled forward past the rows of curious eyes until he found the one empty seat. "Is this seat taken?" he asked the young woman in the window seat. He thought ‘young’ because she was probably his age, late twenties, maybe thirty. They both seemed very young in these surroundings. "Obviously not," the woman snapped and went back to looking out of the window. Colin sat gingerly beside her. Just his luck to get the only woman on the bus who didn’t want a male companion, or not one she hadn’t chosen for herself anyhow. At least he’d get his book read, he thought with a sudden flash of silent humor. So far, his trip had been so busy, he’d only read two chapters, and it had to be back to the library the day after he got home. The driver settled in his seat, the guide introduced herself as Kathy and started telling them about the trip. Colin listened dutifully. He noticed the young woman beside him didn’t, she stared ferociously out at the street determined not to give him any opportunity of speaking to her. As the bus pulled out of the station and into Sydney’s busy traffic, crawling forward, Kathy had ample time to describe the buildings they passed. Architecture wasn’t Colin’s thing so he dug his book out of his knapsack and opened the cover to read again the author’s biography. The author was an historian he admired but, with this book, he was having doubts. The man just wasn’t holding Colin’s interest as he’d expected. Colin checked the return

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date and confirmed next Saturday was the day the book was due back. He sighed, turned the pages to chapter three, and noticed the young woman’s eyes flick back to the street. Briefly, Colin wondered what had caught her attention in a book of Lancashire history but the thought passed and he once again tried to follow the intricacies of cotton trading in the early nineteenth century. Alexandra settled back into the coach seat and pretended to watch Sydney’s urban sprawl, as it swept by the window, while she watched her travel companion from the corner of her eye. He seemed a nice enough man, she’d watched him assisting the old women with their bags and letting them board before him. He was attractive, in a scholarly way, though he was also tall and fit and seemed well off. His clothes were good anyway, so he wasn’t poor. What was the failing that had brought him to this low pass, sharing a bus with a bunch of old women? Probably drink, she thought morosely. In Alexandra’s admittedly limited experience, there were only two kinds of men, those who drank too much and those who hadn’t yet started drinking. In her small village that was men and boys. And there were only three kinds of drunks, the amorous sort, like old Mr. Cuthbert who was always ‘accidentally’ touching her blouse. Or the violent sort, like Ed Connery who, if he couldn’t get a fight in the pub went home to beat his wife, and the sad sort, like Mr. Allison who cried into his beer. Alexandra wondered if men had only recently become useless or were they always that way and hid it by pretending to run things. Certainly the men she knew didn’t measure up to her idea of a man. There were no heroes in Wadeville, no explorers, pioneers, soldiers, sailors, writers, artists, or leaders. She glanced again at her companion. He didn’t look like a drinker; quite the opposite, he looked like a runner, lean, greyhound-like. A marathon-running professor, she decided. Despite Colin’s best efforts, Lancashire history

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wasn’t absorbing him and he couldn’t help noticing the woman was sizing him up. Well, too bad. Her response to his politeness was enough for him; the famous British reserve would protect him for the rest of the trip. After Tracy left he’d enjoyed his solitary state so much he’d come to the conclusion it wasn’t just Tracy who didn’t suit him, it was all women. Alexandra regretted her early ungraciousness; she wanted to ask him something and she’d made it difficult. Mulling over her best approach for a few minutes only made her angry with him. Her rude reply, if it was rude, was his fault after all, pointing out to the whole bus her single status. Why didn’t he just put up a sign? Here Sits a Spinster, a Failure among Women! That thought made her smile at the injustice of it. Poor man, all he did was sit in the last seat on the bus, after asking politely if it was taken, and she’d spent nearly twenty minutes heaping all the failings of life and mankind on his head. She decided the best way to repair the damage was to use some famous Aussie bluntness. "Are you from Whalley?" she asked. Colin, who had finally begun to get into the chapter, was momentarily unaware she was addressing him. He looked at her and found she was. "Yes," he said at last, "do you know it?" "I’ve never been there but I know of it," Alexandra said. Since her Mum died, she’d wondered if any of the story was true. It had begun to blur, shifting in her mind, until she doubted even the place names. Seeing one of them, Whalley, on his library book stamp brought Gran’s tale back sharply to life. "My Gran said we were descendants of a noble family from near there," Alexandra continued. "Do you know a village called Ashton de Cheney?" "No," Colin said slowly, "but I’m not a local in the area. I only moved there a few months ago

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after my divorce." He frowned. Why had he said that? His divorce was no business of anyone but him. He hoped it wasn’t because she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring? He’d already established he was cut out for the monastic life but, if he were to change his mind, this woman would be interesting. She was attractive, neatly dressed in tasteful clothes and her brown eyes and full lips suggested a sense of humor, though he couldn’t quite say how based on their acquaintance so far. "I’m Alex," Alexandra said, holding out her hand. "Hi, Alex," Colin said, shaking her hand, "I’m Colin." Her hand was soft but her handshake firm. Despite his first impression, Colin felt himself thawing. "Are you from around here?" he asked. "No," Alex said, "I come from Victoria. Wadeville, it’s a tiny place about a hundred miles inland from Melbourne." "I’ve just come from Melbourne," Colin said. "It’s a lovely city." "I wouldn’t know," Alex said, "apart from the airport, I’ve never been there." "Never?" Colin asked. "We didn’t get off the station much when I was a kid," Alex said, "then when Dad took off, and we had to move into town, Mum, Gran and me couldn’t afford to go anywhere." "I’m sorry," Colin said. "Still, the country round there is so beautiful you can’t have missed much growing up." Alex considered her reply. He was right, the country was beautiful and what would be the point in telling him of their poverty. A poverty of mind as well as body, and made worse by Gran’s belief they were Quality and had to keep themselves above their neighbors. Even Mum, whose resolve was much less than Gran’s, believed they should behave like they were superior. What was the use of telling him about her lonely childhood, the teasing and bullying at school that drove her to leave early and

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miss out on college? How she’d lived all her life in a tiny village of fifty people and hadn’t a relative or friend in the whole place? How Mum would say, ‘a pretty girl like you will soon get a good husband, not one of these yokels’ while she had to run home from school to stop the yokels from pawing her, not because they fancied her but because they wanted to hurt and humiliate her. "It is pretty round there," Alex agreed. "Living there, you forget. It takes a stranger to remind you of things sometimes." She fell silent. An incredible thought had entered her head and, never having thought or done anything spontaneous before, shaken her confidence in her sanity. Could he have any way of knowing what she’d just thought? She glanced furtively at him and was reassured. He wasn’t wearing the smug expression of a man who had mastered his woman. This was really bizarre. First, her mind was considering asking him to take her back to Lancashire when he went, now it was as ‘his woman’. Colin decided she’d run out of ideas and it was his turn to further the conversation, so he asked, "Was your Gran from Ashton de Cheney?" Alex shook her head. "No," she said. "It was my Grandad who was the de Cheney. Gran was just a regular girl. They met in the war but he was killed before Mum was even born. And so were his parents, by a bomber unloading its bombs. Gran said the Jerry was afraid of all the flak over Liverpool so he dropped his bombs early and scampered back to Germany. She says it happened a lot. The Jerries were cowardly like that, not like our boys who flew right into the thick of it." She paused, and then added, "Her husband was a bomber pilot and he was killed over Germany. That may have clouded her judgment." Colin smiled; her wry honest comment confirmed his earlier suspicion of a latent sense of humor. "Perhaps," he said, ‘but still I prefer simple

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national pride to the modern fashion for revisionism." Alex got the sense of his comment but realized she may not have the education to keep up if the conversation continued this way. Not for the first time, she wished she’d had more courage and stood up to the other kids when she was at school. A lifetime of reading could only take you so far. After that you needed to discuss and debate with other people and she’d never done that. Mum and Gran didn’t need debates; they knew what they knew was right and everything else was wrong. "I do too," she said, "I just feel the pilots on both sides were incredibly brave though I never told Gran that. She’d have skinned me alive." "It’s always a mistake to run down your enemy," Colin agreed. "It devalues your victory if you win and humiliates you further if you lose." "Exactly," Alex said returning his grin. Then she blushed, for the idea of returning to Lancashire with him flooded back into her mind with a whole host of other feelings she barely knew she had. "Was your Gran so fierce?" Colin asked. "Too right, she was," Alex answered with a barely repressed shudder. "And the older she got the worse she got." "Grandmothers are either kittens or tigers," Colin said, "and I’ve always had a soft spot for the tigerish ones." "You’re welcome to them," Alex retorted. "My guess it’s because yours were the other sort." Colin nodded warily. It was obvious he was treading into dangerous territory. "Mine were, but my friend John’s Gran was a real so-and-so. She’d whack us with a wooden spoon or her slipper if we annoyed her," Colin said with a laugh. "And you liked that?" Alex demanded. "When it first happened I complained to my Mum about child abuse," Colin conceded. "Mum laughed, and said, ‘Colin she’s seventy years old.

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How much abuse could she do?’" "And what did you say to that?" "I said it wasn’t that she hurt us, it was just embarrassing." "Your Mum would be impressed by your case, I’m sure," Alex said. "She was. She said if I didn’t want to be embarrassed I shouldn’t give John’s Gran any more trouble." "Sounds like your Mum wasn’t in tune with modern parental practice either," Alex said disapprovingly. "She was really," Colin said. "I don’t remember Mum or Dad ever hitting me or my sister. It’s just they didn’t think it a big deal if other people had different ways of dealing with things. So long as we weren’t going to be seriously hurt, I think they were willing to let John’s Gran get on with it. After all, her kids had turned out all right." "You’re very forgiving," Alex retorted. Colin shrugged. "Actually," he said, "the old lady turned out to be a lot more fun than my parents. They would always be saying things like ‘Don’t do that, it’s dangerous.’ John’s Gran would say, ‘What are you, a man or a mouse?’ My parents would have a fit if I got in a fight and lecture me on civilized ways to resolve arguments. John’s Gran would say, ‘You’re as big as he is, punch him on the nose.’" "She sounds as bad as mine," Alex said sullenly. Colin’s cheerful account of the old lady’s peculiarities confirmed her opinion he was just like other men, brutal. Colin might think being hit with a wooden spoon was just embarrassing but Alex knew better. It hurt and so did a wooden hairbrush. She couldn’t imagine ever dismissing such treatment so lightly. Kathy’s voice boomed suddenly on the PA speaker above their heads and Colin and Alex’s attention was turned to her commentary. "The city of Sydney’s suburbs have grown enormously in the past twenty years…"

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Colin was relieved by the interruption. He and Alex had talked for fifteen minutes and he could sense she was quickly returning to her original state of anger with him. How this could happen based on a conversation about Grandmothers, he didn’t know but so it was. No wonder she was traveling alone. He smiled at Alex, briefly taking leave, and picked up his book. He’d let the guide’s commentary calm her down. Alex too was relieved and she made a conscious effort to be interested in the sights being picked out by the guide. She craned her neck to look at new shopping Malls and sports grounds, letting her rancor slip away. After years of living inside herself, pushing people away, she desperately wanted to connect with Colin. Living day-to-day, as she had, drifting aimlessly through her teenage and twenties’ years, now suddenly she’d discovered a purpose, a Quest. Life, so lately awakened in her, was drawing her forward through this man and the strange coincidence of his home and her history. She would research her roots. It wasn’t unusual; lots of people returned to their original homelands to see what they were made of. Her savings, and as a Legal Secretary to Wadeville’s only lawyer she had managed to put money aside, would be enough for one big trip and she was going to take it. It wasn’t the unfamiliar yearning she felt deep inside that made it imperative, it was the history. He was interested in local history and she’d need someone like that when she got to Lancashire. Alex let the guide’s canned speech flow over her, soothing her jangled nerves, restoring her calm. She would give Colin a few minutes then start again and this time she would not allow herself to become angry with him. She would not! Mentally, she gave herself a hard slap. For once, she would force herself to reach out to someone and not push them away. Colin tried to read but couldn’t. He stared at the pages in dismay. He was stuck for two days with a

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woman who alternated between apparent friendliness and barely repressed rage and he had no idea what pushed the buttons for either state. His predicament reminded him of the last weeks with Tracy, which was what he was here to forget. Though, he’d noticed, in dreams he was remembering his first few weeks with Tracy more and more, those days and nights when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He decided he would respond if she spoke to him but otherwise comment only on the weather or the scenery, the old standbys of polite people everywhere, and hope she hadn’t a phobia about them. This resolution was intended to settle his mind, but it failed miserably and he took to skipping through the book’s few illustrations as a way of avoiding looking past Alex through the coach window. He wouldn’t see much of the Blue Mountains this way, he thought morosely. "Are you interested in Lancashire history or do you work as a historian?" Alex asked when she felt confident she’d mastered her nerves. "I teach history," Colin replied. "So your reading is really for next year’s students?" Colin hesitated. Did he want to explain and risk another return to her ‘Mr. Hyde’ personality or just be brief? He decided to cautiously explain and hope she loved history. "No. For my students I have to follow the syllabus in class," he said. "I’m researching a thesis I’d like to do for a Master’s degree. I’ve had the idea for a while and Lancashire is one of the regions I think supports my thesis. This book, and some others I’ve been reading lately, is research to see if it in fact does. You seem interested in my book, do you enjoy history?" "I hated school," Alex said shortly, feeling her hackles rise, "and history most of all." Great, thought Colin. That’s just frigging wonderful.

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"Most of my students would agree with you," he said with a nervous smile. "We’re getting out into the country now," he continued quickly. "I like natural scenery so much better than cities, don’t you?" Alex looked out the window at the fields dotted with cattle and sheep. They were just like Wadeville and this short holiday, the first she’d ever taken, had taught her she didn’t like the place she called home. She didn’t want to go back to empty meadows and empty minds; she wanted to live. She wanted to be re-born as a new Alex, one without a past that weighed her down. "I’ve really known no other kind of scenery," she said at last. "My few days in Sydney have been so busy, exciting even, I can’t altogether appreciate the country any more." Then why the hell did you come on the trip? Colin thought savagely, wishing she hadn’t. Or if she had, she’d sat with one of the old biddies somewhere else on the bus. "Was it the mountains that caught your fancy then?" he asked desperately. "More the opal fields," Alex replied. "I heard of someone who makes a good living out of finding opals." One of the lawyer’s clients had tried it on with her once, bragging of his wealth. She’d quelled his pretensions but remembered his tale of an adventurous uncomplicated way of making money. Seeing the advertisement for the trip had reminded her. The re-born Alex could easily prospect, sleeping rough out in the bush, and then negotiate with prospective Asian buyers in shady motel rooms. "Are you interested in gem stones?" Colin asked, seeing this conversation was relatively safe. If she was, it didn’t show on her person. Apart from a heavy gold ring on her middle finger, which she fiddled with continuously and was probably her Mother or Grandmother’s wedding band, she wasn’t wearing a piece of jewelry anywhere.

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"I was more interested in finding and selling them," she said at last. "A friend of mine I visited," Colin said, "who lives down in Adelaide, does that. It seems a hard life." "You can get rich at it," Alex said defensively. What right had he to criticize her dreams, even if they were foolish fancies? "I’m sure you can," Colin said and fell silent. She was heading down the snappish path again; it was time to get back to his book. Minutes passed, Alex stared out of the window embarrassingly aware she’d once again turned him off. Would the re-born Alex be able to talk to people without feeling they were attacking her? Not if the past half-hour were an indication, she wouldn’t. Mentally, she slapped herself again; then the thought Gran would approve of her newly discovered belief in discipline made her smile. "I shouldn’t have to worry about getting rich," Alex said. "According to my Gran, I’m the rightful heir to the de Cheney estate back in England." This was different, Colin thought. Throughout his trip, he’d heard some strange stories about the horrors of ‘back home’ but this one was the best. "So why didn’t Gran claim it for you?" he asked, hoping she would see his question in the light of inquiry and not as a personal attack. "Because her husband died before his parents did and never got to pass it on to her," Alex replied. "Presumably the inheritance passed to some other branch of the family." "That’s bad luck," Colin agreed. "I think so," said Alex seriously, "but I imagine it happened a lot in history, all those wars and plagues and things." "Probably it did," Colin agreed again. "What would happen if there wasn’t another branch of the family?" "I’m not a lawyer," Colin said, "and I’m sure it depends on the circumstances but I’d guess it goes

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to the State." "What if someone claimed it years later?" "I’ve no idea," Colin said, "probably a successful claimant would inherit but, again I’m guessing, there must be a time period allowed. You couldn’t go back too long after or the State would have disposed of it. Are you thinking you might have a case?" "Lately," Alex said slowly, "I’ve been wondering. Since Mum died I’ve been on my own and I thought a trip to England might… you know, well, you wouldn’t because I don’t know…" Alex let the sentence dribble away into embarrassing gibberish. He’d think she was an idiot if she didn’t pull herself together but she hadn’t quite got her own mind around this sudden urge to visit England. Her present trip to Sydney, where her Father lived, was supposed to be the one that lifted her out of the gloom that had settled across her life when Mother died. Now, she was thinking of England. But the trip to her Dad’s had brought about a different transformation. If her Dad could go from a ‘workshy layabout who drank the farm’s profits’ to being a regular family man, maybe Alexandra could stop being an anti-social recluse and become a normal woman. "Ladies and gentleman," Kathy’s voice burst once again into Alex and Colin’s small world, "we will be stopping in five minutes for refreshments. I must ask you to be no more than fifteen minutes or we’ll be late at our first sightseeing stop, Katoomba and the Three Sisters…" Kathy’s voice was almost drowned in the rising chorus of twittering from the elderly women all around, as they hunted for purses and jackets. Colin grimaced. Normally, he was sympathetic to the aged; he had aunts and uncles of his own, but so many so close was too much. "Are you getting out?" he asked Alex who seemed to have retreated back into her pouting persona.

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"No," she said shaking her head, "I’ll stay on the bus." She’d had a lifetime spent in the company of old women. It would be a treat to get away from them. "I think I’ll get out and stretch my legs," Colin said. It had been too simple really, whatever she’d decided he had only to do the opposite for his escape. The bus rolled to a halt at a modern roadside service area and the old people sprang to their feet, belying their frail appearance, in an effort to be first in line. Colin let them go. He knew too well that standing between a geriatric and their next meal would result in bruised ribs, their sharp elbows would see to that. A paper on how evolution had provided the elderly with dangerous weapons, in the form of sharpened joints, came to mind and made him smile. Still smiling, he said to Alex, "I’ll see you later then. You can look through my library book, if you like. See if your family gets a mention." "Thank you," Alex said stiffly, not sure she liked him smiling when she didn’t know what he was smiling about. Was he laughing at her social clumsiness? Colin stepped out of the air-conditioned coach and was surprised at the heat. Thank God it’s only early summer, was his invariable thought. He could never emigrate; England’s warm summers were perfect for him. "Mr. Redesdale," Kathy said, "Isn’t Miss Holroyd joining us?" She walked alongside him, like a sheepdog escorting the last straggler into a pen. "No, she’s staying on the bus," Colin said. He looked back to see Alex watching him. Before he could wave, she’d looked away. "My name’s Colin," he continued, shaking her hand. "So how are you and Miss Holroyd getting along, Colin?" Kathy asked. "Fine," Colin answered, "fine." He held the door for Kathy and she preceded him into the restaurant.

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"It isn’t often we get younger people on our trips," Kathy continued as Colin rejoined her. Colin was pleased she thought of him as ‘younger’. Beside her freshness, her honey-blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and the band of freckles sprinkled across her tiny nose, he felt like an old, grizzled veteran. "Have you been a tour guide long?" he asked. She couldn’t be much older than twenty-one or two. Kathy laughed, displaying white, even teeth. "Every summer since I was eighteen," she said. "Daddy owns the company so, when I’m not at University, I get to help in the family business." She pulled a comically sad face and added, "I’d rather be on the beach with my friends." "Who wouldn’t," Colin agreed, though personally he’d rather be boiled in oil instead of being fried in it on a beach. Australia’s love affair with ‘the beach’ had been pointed out to him on a number of occasions during his trip and he’d dutifully taken part when necessary. It was the sight of all the lithe, toned, tanned young bodies that had started him dreaming of his early days with Tracy. Where did lumpy Australians go on their days off, he wondered briefly, before turning his attention back to Kathy and deciding she would look very nice in a thong bikini. "At least you’re getting paid and having your living expenses covered," Colin said, remembering his own struggle to make his budget fit his lifestyle when he was at University. "True," Kathy said, tucking her arm into his as they joined the back of the line for coffee, "and I get some rest. The house I share is one long party in the summer months." "Must get tiring," Colin agreed, feeling pleasurably uncomfortable at the touch of her hand. "You haven’t been able to find alternative, quieter, accommodation, I presume." Kathy laughed, her face lighting up and almost stopping Colin’s heart, "I haven’t looked," she

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admitted. "Thought not," Colin replied. "The parties aren’t so bad," Kathy said, "it’s more the boyfriends. Some nights the house sounds like a wildly popular bordello." "Very disturbing," Colin said. "And you don’t have a boyfriend? I find that hard to believe." "Not a steady one," Kathy said. "I’m still looking." She squeezed his arm and gave him another one of her devastating smiles. Colin’s nerve began to fail. This Aussie frankness would never do for him. They’d talked for only five minutes and already they were talking about her sex life -- in public! Alexandra took the opportunity of having no one behind her to push the seat back into a more relaxed horizontal position while she scanned the index of Colin’s book for places and names she might recognize from Gran’s story. Her mind, however, kept flitting back to the way Kathy had pounced on Colin as he left the bus. Nor did she miss Kathy standing so close to him in the queue. She wanted to run after them and join the line, push the two apart, but she knew it wouldn’t happen. Kathy was young, beautiful, full of life and confidence; she could have any man she wanted. Even the newborn Alex would be a very poor second in that race. She blinked hard to suppress the prickling she recognized as the onset of tears and tried to focus on the index again. But it isn’t fair, her mind screamed. Colin was the kind of man Mum and Gran meant when they said she’d get someone better. He was a gentleman and they were hard to find nowadays, particularly in Wadeville. Kathy should stick to her sort and not steal Alexandra’s. The book seemed peculiarly heavy and she laid it gently on her tummy while she stared angrily out the window at her fellow tourists in the café. The book’s weight pressed heavily on her belly and its spine, a hard straight line, ran curiously from her navel to…

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Alex scrambled to her feet, snapped the book shut and dropped it on Colin’s seat. The vision that had filled her mind was so shocking she trembled from head to toes. Sweat beaded her forehead and the palms of her hands, what was happening to her? Was she ill? She had to get outside where she could breathe; in here she was breathless. She stumbled down the aisle, her legs felt like jelly, and out into the heat. "Miss Holroyd has decided to come out after all," Kathy said to Colin as they took a window seat with their drinks. Colin watched Alex pace agitatedly back and forth beside the bus before answering. "She must have changed her mind," he said. "Do you know her at all?" "Not at all," Kathy grinned. "She was just a bit strange when she checked in." "How so?" "I called her Ms. Holroyd, as we’re supposed to do nowadays when we aren’t sure, and she said, very sarky, ‘she was not divorced and she preferred Miss.’ As if I cared," Kathy replied with another mischievous grin. "She is very prickly," Colin agreed. "We’ve chatted briefly, two or three times, and each time it ended with her clearly about to give me a good telling off and I have no idea why." "As people get to know each other, they often swap seats," Kathy said. "You might escape that way. Otherwise you’re stuck with her." "Thanks," said Colin wryly. "Only remember what I said if I’m found dead, stabbed with a hat pin or something." "You can imagine her wearing a hat pin, can’t you?" Kathy replied watching Alex whose pacing was now calmer, more the walk of someone taking the air rather than a fugitive from fright as she’d appeared before. "She reminds me of pictures of old Australia, genteel and repressed." "Thanks again," Colin said. "Now, I’m even more

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nervous about going back on the bus. It’s always the repressed ones who dunnit." Kathy smiled and squeezed his hand. "If you behave yourself with Miss Holroyd, bring her out, get her involved with the rest of us," she said, "I’ll buy you a drink tonight when we stop." Colin smiled weakly. This was the part of relationships where he always got low marks. Was her offer a kind gesture signifying a general feeling of shared humanity or was it a come-on? He never could read the signals right and this time was no exception. By the time Colin returned to his seat, Alex was back in hers. He smiled at her and said, "You decided to come out after all." "I needed to stretch my legs, that’s all," Alex replied coolly. His defection to Kathy rankled, though she knew her anger was unfair. Then the ‘vision’ returned, filling her mind. She was ‘stretching her legs’ and Colin was… Alex blushed furiously and turned quickly to the window to hide her confusion. She had to get a different seat; sitting so close to a man, something she’d never done, except very old men sometimes at home, was obviously an experience she would have to take more slowly. Colin stared at the back of her head in bewilderment. What had he done now? He lifted his book from the seat and sat gingerly on the edge, leaving as much space as he could between his hip and hers. She could really spoil his trip, even his life, if she did something as wild as her nervous behavior suggested she might. He must get into this damn book and shut her out till she got the message and went away.

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Chapter Two "These are the world famous Three Sisters," Kathy said to the assembled group who looked suitably impressed but gave a strong sense, as the old folks always did, that she was holding them up from their next meal. Colin, who’d hoped to distance himself from Alex once they’d left the bus only to find she stuck by him at every turn, said, "Wonderful view, isn’t it?" "Wonderful," Alex agreed, feeling rather queasy at the sheer drop to the valley floor hundreds of feet below. She imagined holding Colin’s arm to steady herself, and the idea gave her a thrill. The new Alex would do that, she decided, and reached for him. "Do you mind?" she asked. "I just want to look over the edge, and I’m a bit scared." "Not at all," Colin answered, taking her hand and gripping it tightly. Alex discovered her vertigo didn’t get better, even holding a man’s strong hand. She stepped back from the edge and reluctantly released him. "I know the railing would have stopped me overbalancing," Alex said, "but, I’m not good with heights." "I don’t blame you in this case," Colin said. "I like heights, and I still feel funny looking down there. It’s a hell of a drop." They admired the Sisters, three pinnacles of rock jutting skyward from an outcrop of the cliff, in companionable silence before following the rest of the party along the trail to the next Lookout. "What sort of school do you teach in?" Alex asked. Alex would take an interest in people, learn about them, and share her experiences with them -if Alex had any experiences to share. "I teach history and sports in a private school," Colin said. "Very Harry Potter-ish" He saw her blank expression and realized he was talking to the only person in the English-speaking world who didn’t

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know who Harry Potter was. "What do you do back home?" "I’m a legal secretary," Alex replied shortly. Her mind was digesting the information confirming her original guess. She was pleased with her deductive powers. It made the vague plan that kept intruding into her rational mind less implausible. Why shouldn’t she spend a month in England as a detective searching for the truth? A legal secretary explained a lot, Colin thought, particularly in a quiet country neighborhood where old-fashioned ways were still prized. "I imagine that can be quite interesting," Colin said. "It has its moments," Alex replied, trying to think of one in the decade she’d been there. A squabble about a Will and a case over some contested land were all that came to mind. She only worked there because Mum said it was the one suitable place in town for her to work. Now Mum was gone, taking her secondhand dream of grandeur with her, and Alexandra, the inheritor of the dream, hated it for ruining her life. Mum had hoped Alexandra would marry the old lawyer’s son but he chose an outsider, someone he’d met when he was at law school, and Alex had to be content just basking in the halo of the legal profession’s higher status. Colin, seeing her expression settling into the wooden look he was learning to dread, changed the subject back to the scenery and slowly began involving the others in what had been an uncomfortable twosome. "Very good," Kathy said quietly to Colin as he stood patiently waiting for the ladies to board the coach. "You’ve earned that beer already. I didn’t think it was possible." "It was easier than you think," Colin said. "Alex gets on okay with women. Maybe she had a bad experience with a man." "Maybe," Kathy replied sardonically, her tone

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and expression suggesting she thought another possibility more likely. "I’m holding you to that beer," Colin said as the last of the tour climbed aboard, and he had a moment alone with Kathy. "After dinner, in the bar," Kathy said. "We’ll have the place to ourselves. The old dears always go to watch TV in their rooms." Colin returned to his seat with her smile emblazoned in his mind. Whatever the faults of this bus tour, two days of gazing at Kathy’s rounded figure in shorts and T-shirt made up for them. Alex watched him returning to his seat wearing that foolish half-smile all men wore when they thought they had a chance with a female. God, how stupid they were. And, she’d thought this one ‘different’. She’d thought him one of those cool, educated, well-read men that populated the novels her mother used to get out of the Romance section of the library. Lately, she’d taken to reading them herself, though she couldn’t yet admit it, and she’d imagined him in the hero role. She almost snorted with derision, him a hero? A grubby schoolteacher in a grubby school, scratching a living, living on his own, no friends to even travel with, probably had to move schools because of some indiscretion. She’d read about that sort of thing in the newspapers. "This is spectacular country," Colin said brightly as he sat down, "isn’t it?" Alex made a supreme effort for civility and replied, "I have to admit it is. What’s England like? Your part I mean?" As Colin talked, Alex continued her internal debate. One side of her, the Alexandra side, wanted him to shut up and go away, the other, the new Alex side, reminded her of her Quest, which was now a given, and how she’d need his local knowledge and historian’s skills. Finally, as he was wrapping up his description of his present home, Lancashire, and the nearby Lake District, she came to her conclusion. She would be as friendly as she

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needed to be to get his help, and no more. She would have no close dealings with a womanizer, which he clearly was from her observations of him and Kathy. "It sounds nice," Alex said, when he finished. "I’ve been thinking for some time I should visit and see a place I’ve heard so much about and now Mum’s gone I have the chance." Colin’s heart sank. The polite thing to say, what folks always said in these circumstances, was ‘drop by’ or ‘stay with me’ or something like that and he had no wish to see Alex again. His early thoughts of her attractiveness had been replaced by a nagging fear that she’d do him an injury. Underneath her old-fashioned exterior lay an old-fashioned spirit, he felt, relentless, disciplined, and hard but with something less steady at the heart. "Well, if you do," he said slowly, "get in touch. Maybe I can help you find places." "Thank you," Alex replied, pleased at the success of this first feeler but thinking she would need to be on her guard anytime he was there. First chance he got, he’d probably be groping her. "Local knowledge would be a great help." The coach backed out of its parking spot, and Colin picked up his book. Maybe she’d start talking to the woman in the seat behind, who they’d briefly chatted with at the Lookout, and he’d be off the hook. Please God, let her drift away to more congenial companionship, then he could concentrate on his book and (with a huge slice of luck) Kathy, and he’d never see Alex again after tomorrow. "Our next stop is the Zig-Zag Railway," Kathy’s voice boomed over the PA system. Colin peeked down the aisle and saw she was grinning back at him. He smiled, shook his head, and went back to his book while Kathy extolled the next sight’s attractions, and the old folk twittered in anticipation. "How would I find out about my Gran and the de Cheneys?" Alex asked.

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"Somerset House in London has all the birth registers going back more than a century," Colin replied, "That’s all you need." "So, I fly to London first," Alex continued. "Then, how do I get to Lancashire?" Colin sighed silently. One minute she was ignoring him, next she was pestering him. And he knew the moment he started talking her hackles would rise. She was the most infuriating woman. Not like Tracy, Tracy listened or chatted with a pleasure you could see in her eyes. Or did at first, later, it was like this, like talking with Alex. Full of foreboding, Colin explained the many routes to Lancashire, and they discussed each as the bus wound its way through the narrow mountain roads to the Zig-Zag Railway. Miraculously, they were still talking pleasantly when the bus halted, and Kathy called the group to order. "I’m not good with heights," Alex said, peering suspiciously down the almost sheer walls of the valley where the train was slowly working its way up to them. "I’ll stay in the bus." "You have to go," Colin protested. "Just don’t look down. Look straight out of the window or watch out of the cliff side of the carriage, you’ll be fine." Alex nodded. When she’d signed up for the trip, she’d imagined herself gazing up at the mountains admiring the view. Not crawling along cliff sides, spending her time on the top of a vast plateau peering down a thousand feet into valleys below. She tried to look across the gaping hole in front of them to the cliffs at the farther side. For a moment she felt triumphant, it worked! Then slowly, inexorably, her eyes were drawn down to the foot of the cliff where a Lilliputian farmhouse sheltered among bonsai trees. Her stomach heaved, and she decided against. "I’ll watch you all from the top," she said, the new Alex giving way to the old Alexandra. Colin frowned. Apart from the one peek over the edge at the Three Sisters, she’d avoided all the best

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sights there and now she was planning to do the same here. It wasn’t his vacation she was wasting, but he felt strongly that she’d regret it later if she didn’t start taking part. "Nonsense," said Colin firmly. "Come with me, and you can cling on tight if it gets too much." Alexandra took exception to being ordered about by a man, and it took all of Alex’s resolve to prevent her answering rudely. Alex, she realized, didn’t mind so much, she knew that if someone didn’t push her forward, she’d slide back to being Alexandra. "All right," she said. "But if I’m sick on you, it’s your fault." The train shunted back and forth, zig-zagging them down, and then up, the side of the cliff as it had done for decades before the road and cars and a new tunnel had put it out of a job. Now, no longer an integral part of the rail system, it ran only for tourists and its days were busier than ever. Alex clung to Colin’s arm, glancing out over the valley then, when he saw her face go white and ordered her to stop, looking back at the rocks and gum trees on the other side. It was rather nice, she thought between bouts of nausea, being bossed about by a man. She felt cared for, loved even. Alexandra glowered balefully in impotent rage from a corner of the new Alex’s mind. The train rejoined the carriages with a violent THUMP that set them swaying. Alex screamed and buried her face in Colin’s shoulder. She felt his hand stroking her hair; his cheek against her head, and her insides went wild. She had to cross her legs to crush the trembling at the hinge of her thighs. The trembling stopped, but the pleasure was doubled. She stretched her arm around his chest, pressing the softness of her breasts against his hard body and feeling her nipples blossom under the unfamiliar pressure. If the train falls now, she thought as the clanking, grinding noises of iron couplings mating continued, I don’t care. I’ve never

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felt this good. "They must have a new driver on this bit," Colin said. "That was the worst coupling yet." Alex smiled up at him, a little embarrassed by her display of timidity and the feelings now slowly ebbing away. "It was, wasn’t it," she said breathlessly. "I thought we were gone for sure." Privately, she hoped the next one would be much the same. She never wanted the ride to end. If this was what people felt when they just cuddled together at the movies or in the park, what must sex be like? Her virginity, long a source of superiority over the world, was now another blight to be added to the others brought on by Gran’s wretched story. Gran called it a dream and maybe for her it was -though it never came true. For Alex and her Mum, it was a nightmare. The train reached the top and halted with a great sigh of satisfaction at a job well done. Smoke and steam swirled around Colin and Alex as they stepped from the carriage onto the platform. Now, it was Colin’s turn to be embarrassed, for Alex still clung to his arm, and the old people at once began whispering and nudging each other, with sly, knowing looks at the linked arms. Alex couldn’t stop gazing at Kathy. She knew she couldn’t win tonight’s skirmish but she was thrilled at her early success, and that was enough for now. Kathy would have known how to turn this moment into sex later; Alex had no idea. Kathy would be on the pill, you could tell by the way she practically thrust her golf shirt into Colin’s hands when they talked, Alex wasn’t. But Alex had an advantage Kathy couldn’t beat. Alex was going to England and Kathy wasn’t. Kathy could have the next victory as a consolation prize for losing the war. Alex let go of Colin’s arm only when she had to climb on the bus. She sauntered up the aisle pretending not to hear the approving twittering that followed her progress, though she drank it in like

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nectar. Alex was a woman to be reckoned with, and Alexandra, who was still prophesying doom in the dark recesses of her mind, could go to Hell. "I think I owe you a bar full of beers," Kathy said as Colin joined her in the hotel’s lounge after watching the sun set behind the now hazy Blue Mountains. "You’ve made her into a star. My guess is they’re all upstairs now helping her choose her wedding gown." "Very funny," Colin replied, accepting the glass Kathy handed him. "My only contribution was to be a comforting arm in a time of need. Alex is afraid of heights." "Well, whatever," Kathy said. "I’m glad for both of us. You have a friendlier neighbor and I have another satisfied customer. She would have written a complaint, her kind always do, and Dad would’ve been pissed with me." "Working in the family business must be stressful," Colin agreed. "There’s no ‘take this job and shove it’ when you’re in the family." "Too right, mate," Kathy said feelingly. "Anything you do wrong comes out of your hide." "What!" Colin cried. "Metaphorically speaking," Kathy said, laughing. "Though, Dad occasionally threatens to deal with me the way he used to when I was a kid." Colin wondered if everyone knew what he dreamed of? People were always doing this to him, giving him tiny glimpses of a life he’d love to live if he only had the courage. "Why isn’t Miss Holroyd with you?" Kathy continued, with just enough inflection on the Miss to show that Alex’s earlier correction still rankled. "She doesn’t drink," Colin said. "Very Old Australia," Kathy answered. "When she was growing up only men went into Bars, women went to the Ladies Lounge, and ladies didn’t go into pubs at all." "She’s not that old," Colin protested. Alex was younger than he was by a year or two, he guessed.

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"Well, she looks like she is," Kathy replied. "She’s just reserved and serious." "That’s what men are for," Kathy said. "They’re the ‘husbands’, gathering, guarding and conserving the wealth. Women should be fun, cementing families and societies together with their socializing skills. That’s what my Anthropology course says anyway." "That was the past," Colin said, feeling uncomfortable at how correctly she’d described his marriage to Tracy and more than a little strange defending Alex to Kathy. "And, not everyone’s the same. Anyhow, most people are steadier by age thirty. Alex is growing old gracefully." "Women just grow old," Kathy said, gazing into his eyes. "Men grow more distinguished." She leaned forward and held Colin’s hand. "I don’t think a man’s worth looking at till he’s at least forty." Colin was speechless. Her hand on his, her steady gaze, combined with the huskiness in her voice were far beyond where he’d imagined they’d be by this time. He felt he was being driven down a road he’d wanted to idly stroll along, enjoying the moments without necessarily arriving at a destination. "I’m not forty," he answered lamely. He held her hand, tickling the palm with his finger. "Then, you’re safe from me," Kathy answered, but her gaze didn’t falter and the tip of her tongue ran lightly across her lips. Colin knew now it wasn’t true. Even someone as slow on the uptake as he was could read these signs. He reached across and tucked a stray lock of golden hair behind her ear; his hand brushing her cheek as it passed. "Shall we walk for a while?" he asked. "It’s a beautiful evening." "For a while," Kathy replied. "I have to be up early. I’m working tomorrow you know." "I’ll see you get to bed in good time," Colin said with a grin. Really, these Aussies were wonderfully

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direct. Through the glass door to her room’s small balcony, Alex watched the mountains turn from pimpernel blue to darker navy as the light ebbed from the sky. The moon, a thin sliver like a cut fingernail, climbed higher among the growing band of stars that filled the center of the sky. It was a glorious night, and she wished she could be walking among the gum trees outside the motel’s fence, counting the stars. She wished she knew more of their names and imagined Colin at her side describing each point of light in his quiet way. She wished she hadn’t turned down his offer of a drink in the bar. Gran would have approved the decision, but she wasn’t here and Alex was. The new Alex should take a drink in the bar because drink wasn’t the evil that Gran and Mum said it was. She’d proved that only three days ago when she’d visited her Dad in Sydney… Dad left them when she was young, and she hardly remembered him. It was his awkwardly formal letter of condolence on the death of Mum, with an invitation to visit, ‘if she wanted’, that was her first real contact. At first, she’d put it aside, coldly refusing to acknowledge a man who’d abandoned her and Mum to years of poverty and loneliness. But she had no brothers or sisters, no aunts or uncles, no other relation she knew of, and she needed to get away. And, she could give him a piece of her mind. Yes, she could do that all right. All through the flight from Melbourne to Sydney, Alex wondered what he’d be like. Would he be broken down by drink and poverty, like Gran had insisted? She imagined him gaunt, frail, and ill like the older drinkers in Wadeville. Was it her duty to stand by him in his declining years as she had with Mum through her final illness? Would he show up at the airport as promised or would he be lying in a gutter somewhere sleeping off another night of debauchery? Her surprise, on seeing an elderly, upright well-

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dressed man and having him introduce himself as her father, was so complete that she thought it must be a mistake. When he introduced his wife, a plump smiling woman, and his son, her halfbrother, she almost wept. The mental picture she had of him, born of years of gloomy poisonous predictions, was a sham. Where was the man who ‘spent the farm’s profits on drink, rolling home reeking of beer at all hours of the night’? "Your Gran never liked me," Dad said, as they sat together in his pleasant suburban garden. "Nothing I did was good enough for her. I couldn’t even go out in the evening for a drink without her accusing me of drunkenness or infidelity. She was a bitter, disappointed old woman (I’m sorry to speak ill of your Gran, Alex, but she was no friend to me) who drove her own husband to drink (though by all accounts he wasn’t averse to having a few too many before he met her over in London) and needed to prove it was a failing of men, not her." Alex, though she would have liked to defend Gran, felt she was hearing the truth. Maybe not wholly innocent, her Dad was probably much the same as other men and not the monster she’d grown up on. She was suddenly sad for her Gran. The feeling surprised her. She should be angry with the woman, twisting her life and her Mother’s life the way she had. But she wasn’t. She felt the old woman’s disappointment so keenly, her bitterness at life’s betrayal, her cruel fate, it made her wince. Could pain be passed through your genes? Alex felt it could. Here she was blinking back tears in a sunny garden for a lost love in a doomed bomber half a world and two lifetimes away. Sometime soon, she would go to England and find out the end of the story. It couldn’t help Gran, but it may help Alex if she put the past to rest… "I will go to England," Alex said out loud, returning from her reverie with a jolt. Her vague wish, dreamed so lightly in Dad’s garden, was now

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taking on a real shape. She had a contact, Colin, who could help -- a stabbing pain shot through her heart -- even if he was a lecherous womanizer! There, before her eyes, walking through the garden was Colin -- with Kathy! He’d only just left her when she’d come up to her room, not 30 minutes ago, and now he had his hand round another woman’s shoulders. And the woman, Kathy, the sex-crazed slut, had both her arms round his waist. It was disgusting! The stabbing pain settled into a dull heartache, twisting her insides till she wanted to weep. She’d been so happy when she’d come upstairs. Colin had chatted with her since dinner, talking about their day, the eucalyptus vapor that filled the air making the mountains blue, his work, and all in a way that made her feel normal, as if she mattered to him. He’d even teased her about holding his arm when the rail carriage swayed and rattled on the way up the cliff side. She’d blushed at his joshing but was pleased he said it. She’d never felt so close to anyone as she had then, and now it was gone. He was just looking for a night’s lay, and when she’d left, he’d found another. A cheap womanizer and… "NO!" Alex said out loud, staring fiercely at her reflection in the darkening glass. "Stop thinking like that. That’s Gran speaking, not Alex. From now on, I promise to think my own thoughts. Gran’s gone and so has Alexandra. Do you hear me?" She glared into the reflection of her eyes, daring herself to flinch away from the promise. "Yes," she whispered, the agreement dragged from deep in her mind. "I promise." She looked at the couple below and scolded herself again. "You have no idea what he’s like, and you’ve no business calling him names. For all you know, he’s a shy bachelor who is wildly flattered, and equally terrified, at the attentions of a young girl who looks like she walked out of a beer and beach commercial.

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What man wouldn’t be? And perhaps Kathy dislikes loud, boorish men. Why can’t a beautiful woman like a pleasant, polite man if she wants to? Perhaps she’s sick of young men and wants something better?" He was attractive she couldn’t deny that. He was everything she’d been saving herself for only, through all that saving, she didn’t know how to win him. "Stop condemning people and enjoy life." Alex scolded on, feeling more contrite with each word. "Look at Dad! Look what they made you believe about him. And all the time he had a happy wife and family, and a happy life away from the cruel words of jealous bitter women." She leaned her forehead against the window, her anger had made her hot, and the cool glass of the door was soothing. The anger had temporarily dulled the pain in her heart, but now it returned redoubled, Colin and Kathy were kissing. "The joy of love is but a moment long. The pain of love endures the whole life through," Alex whispered the words of the song Gran used to sing. "And sometimes more than one life through," Alex added softly, feeling tears running down her cheeks. This was where Alexandra won out over Alex. Alexandra couldn’t be hurt because she didn’t care what Colin did. Alex wanted to be like other women, and it hurt so badly that she wondered if she was right in the head. Do other women feel this way? And if they do, why do they do keep on hoping for love? Why didn’t they all become like Gran? Alex saw the couple, dimly among the trees, Colin’s head bent down to Kathy’s upturned face, his arms supporting her, holding her up to him. Kathy was on tiptoe, her arms around his neck, one foot hovering in the air like in the movies. She seemed smothered in Colin’s embrace, a rag doll he was worrying to death, only the taut lines of her body, the urgent rubbing against his frame, and the slow grinding of her mouth to his, suggested she

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was an active partner in the moment. A warm tingling, trembling glow spread out from Alex’s core, quickening her pulse and weakening her knees. She thought she might fall, and she grasped the door handle to steady herself. It felt strange. It was a regular handle, long, round, smooth to the touch but it gave her a funny feeling, and she let it go. Her hand flopped weakly, striking her at the join of her thighs and a piercing shaft of pleasure swept her body. "Think of the germs they’re getting," she said sternly, remembering Mum’s disapproving words when once they’d seen a young couple kissing in the street. The thought broke the spell. She laughed, shakily, and closed the curtains. "Bed time," she said severely. "You’ve had an exciting day and now it’s time to rest." But she couldn’t rest. Her dreams were wild, crude, frightening in their intensity, waking her, bathed in sweat, time and time again. When the wake up call sent her stumbling wearily to the shower, she was exhausted. "Did you sleep well?" Colin asked, as she entered the breakfast room. "No," snapped Alex. The dull headache that had started at the back of her skull now seemed settled between her eyes. "I’m sorry," Colin replied, edging away from her. "Change of beds, I expect." "You’d know all about that," Alex answered and immediately wished she hadn’t. He would guess she’d watched him with Kathy and think she was spying jealously. Colin smiled weakly, puzzled by the venom in her tone, and turned his attention to an elderly lady who needed a grapefruit reaching from the back of the shelf. By the time he was finished, Alex had swept imperiously past them in the line and was taking a seat at an empty table. Colin dawdled, choosing slowly, helping more old ladies with their trays, ordering the full English Breakfast and was

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pleased to see Alex’s table fill up. He could sit elsewhere and avoid the sharp edge of her tongue for another hour. Alex was as pleased as Colin when her table was filled with pensioners. Her bad temper had started the day off badly, and today was her last day with him. She needed his address or phone number, and she wouldn’t get it if she spent the day snapping at him. She had no reason to be jealous and no right to be angry with him. If either of them was behaving badly, she knew it was herself. Alex let breakfast and the harmless prattle of the old ladies restore her temper and resolved to apologize when breakfast was over. The opportunity didn’t arise. Colin never seemed close enough to speak to, till they were once again on the bus. "I’m sorry about earlier," Alex said when they were settled. "I didn’t have a good night, and I woke up with a headache. Please forgive me." "Think nothing of it," Colin replied. "We can’t all be morning people." He spoke lightly, but her peevishness had undermined his confidence in her behavior, reminding him of how unnerving yesterday had been. Alex hesitated. His voice told her she wasn’t forgiven but to keep pressing would only make a bad situation worse. The distance between them suggested by his voice chilled her, making her angry again with herself. When would she behave well enough to be fit company for anyone, let alone single desirable men? She turned to the window to blink back tears. What was happening? She never cried, and now she couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe Alexandra was right; being normal was too painful for someone like her. "Please," she begged, throwing pride and caution to the wind, "don’t be angry. I-I…" She didn’t know how to continue, and her voice trailed away miserably. "I’m not angry," Colin said gently. He took her

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hand in his and squeezed it. "Let’s forget it, shall we?" Alex nodded happily. This time he sounded sincere. Her heart soared, his touch burned her skin, and one of her dreams from last night, the one where she ‘said sorry’ for her bad behavior, flashed back into her head, making her blush fiercely. She hoped he couldn’t know what she was thinking because she was sure an educated man, an academic and a teacher, would be disgusted if he did.

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Chapter Three The first Opal Field was hardly bigger than a country backyard but, as Kathy told them, when Colin and Alex expressed their disappointment to her, "It suits the old people. It’s very flat so they’re in no danger of falling, and it has the biggest gift shop." She didn’t add it was also only an hour from the Bridal Veil Falls, their first stop of the morning, so weak bladders weren’t pushed beyond their limits. "You’ll find this afternoon’s ‘field’ more interesting, I promise." And so it was. When Colin and Alex stepped through the entranceway, studying the maps they’d been given, they found a property that was flat and busy with tourists immediately in front of them, but paths led more adventurous hunters into an extensive bush beyond. Few of the elderly opal seekers were venturing down the narrow trails so when Colin and Alex did, there was an outcry of ‘do be careful’ from their companions. Their searching in the bush, with its ancient gum trees whose tattered peeling bark made them look as close to death as some of their bus companions, seemed as fruitless as the morning’s had been. Even when they couldn’t hear the others and the trail was only wide enough for them to walk in single file, opals didn’t seem to be in abundance. "They’ve probably had thousands of visitors here," Colin said as they stopped at a steep rocky bank with a sign saying ‘Danger. Do not climb.’ "You’re right," said Alex. "Anything there was to be found has been found long ago but I enjoyed the walk after being cooped up in the bus." "I’m going up there," Colin said, pointing at the bank. "You stay here while I go and find our fortune. I bet this is where they get the stones they sell in the shop. Like pick-your -own fruit farms, they fence off the best places." "If you’re going, I’m going," Alex said. She didn’t fancy being left alone among the crowding

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bushes with their furtive rustlings and sinister whispering sounds. She was a country girl but from tamed, farming country where the only animals were harmless herbivores, cows and sheep, not this wild bush full of who-knew-what. "Are you sure?" Colin asked. "Positive," Alex replied emphatically. "Okay, I’ll go ahead and pull you up," Colin said, and he climbed swiftly to the top. It was only three steps, no more difficult than the easiest of rock falls on the Lakeland fells. He reached down to Alex but she couldn’t grab his hand, only their fingertips met. "Step on that first foothold," Colin said, "then you can reach." Alex hitched up the pleats of her skirt and tried to put her foot on the rocky outcrop he’d used and couldn’t. She looked for a lower one and found nothing. "It’s too high for me," she said, looking up at his grinning face. "I’ll come down and boost you," Colin said. He slipped back over the edge and was beside her in seconds, much to Alex’s chagrin. She hated being shown her weaknesses. Colin cupped his hands and bent his knees. "Step on my hands and I’ll lift you to the first one. It’s easy after that." Alex did as she was told and, leaning against the rock face, slowly ascended as he carefully lifted her till she could place her left foot on the foothold. "Now stretch your right foot out to that ledge over there," Colin said, raising her foot higher to help. Alex felt her skirt sliding up her thigh and realized, if she did as he said, he would be looking up her skirt at her underwear and she tried vainly to remember which ones she’d put on this morning. The absurdity of clinging to a cliff while worrying about what underwear she was wearing wasn’t lost on her and she giggled. "What’s so funny?" Colin asked. He wished she’d

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get a move on because his shoulders were beginning to ache supporting her weight at this height. "I’m hoping you’re a gentleman and not taking advantage of all this," Alex replied. "I’ve got my eyes closed," Colin said. ‘Look and see." Alex tried to look and decided against. For her, even three feet off the ground seemed enormous. She pressed close to the rock again and took a deep breath. Then she wondered why she’d stopped him looking? She had good legs. All her life, she’d walked, to school, to work, to the shops and it showed. In her mind, they were her best bits. They were as good as Kathy’s, even if she didn’t wear skimpy little shorts to show them off. "I’ll trust you," she said and stretched out for the foothold. Her skirt rode higher up her thigh, bunching at her hips. "I’m there," she said when she felt her foot securely placed on the outcrop. "Okay, now lift your left foot to the crevice at your waist," Colin said, stepping back from the rock and keeping his gaze lowered. "No way," Alex said. "You’ll have to help me." Her limbs were trembling now that he’d let go of her foot, and she felt sure she was going to fall. "Your modesty will suffer," Colin said with a chuckle. "I don’t care. Hold me. Please," Alex cried, panic rising in her breast. Colin stepped forward and grasped her foot with one hand and placed the other on her bottom to press her against the rock. He felt her trembling and realized she was in serious difficulty. Slowly, he slid his left hand up her calf to just below the knee where it could provide lateral support while his other hand provided vertical lift. "What are you doing?" Alex cried. "Calm down," Colin said sharply. Really, it was as well that they were parting company in another few hours. The urge to slap the bottom he was

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supporting was becoming unstoppable. "I’m steadying your leg and lifting you like you asked. Now get on with climbing." He pushed her behind, like a figure skater boosting his partner above his head, and pressed on her leg as it lifted timidly off the outcrop on its way to the next step. He watched as he lifted, ensuring she wasn’t losing her nerve or her grip. She had nice legs, slim, shapely, and they went on forever. Well, he could see they didn’t go on forever, but they were certainly long and surprisingly firm. "I’m there," Alex said, feeling her toes scrunch into the narrow cleft in the rock. "Then reach up to the top and pull yourself over," Colin replied, staying where he was in case he needed to catch her. He couldn’t help admiring the view but he was worried. If she froze where she was, he’d have trouble getting her up or down. Alex gripped the roots of a tree that protruded out of the earth above her head and pulled herself up. She sat on the top with a heavy thump, exhausted at the effort and her overwhelming emotions. In a moment, Colin’s head appeared over the edge and a moment later, he was standing beside her, grinning. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, looking up my skirt," Alex said crossly, regretting it even as she spoke. Colin was taken aback by this sudden attack, then he recovered. No matter what she did, he was going to keep cool. He held out his hand to her. "Come on, you," he said. "We’ve got our fortunes to find." "I’m sorry I said that," Alex began, grasping his hand and scrambling to her feet. "After insisting on coming with you and then making such a nuisance of myself getting here, it was very unfair." "I thought so," Colin said sternly but he smiled to soften the blow. Alex returned his smile weakly. His words pierced deep, skewering her heart, reviving the

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ache from the night before. It was how she was brought up, she thought, that’s why she couldn’t talk to people. From being a child all she’d heard was criticism, till she’d taken to living in her head, reliving memories over and over. Then, when the memories were sucked dry of emotion, she’d invented stories, ones of her own, ones that didn’t need anyone else to be part of them. She was the heroine and the villainess in her own world. But that was Alexandra. Now she was Alex, and Alex wanted to stop living inside her head and enjoy a life outside; she wanted experiences to replace memories. She was living an experience right now and instead of enjoying it, she was talking to herself in her head -- again. She dug the nails of her free hand into her palm to end her bad behavior. For the first time in her life, so far as she knew, she was alone with a man and she would be here, with him, not in her head with ghosts. Unable to find the words to explain her annoyance or her silence to Colin, she pointed to the landscape and asked, "Where shall we start?" "I’ll go over there and walk forward," Colin replied pointing to their right. "You walk straight forward from here. We’ll stop at that next rock face, each turn three paces to our left, and walk back here on the new lines. That way we cover as much ground as we can in the time available." "Okay," Alex said. She gazed out over the short bushes and boulders strewn across the small plain. She could feel her dream of prospecting evaporating in her head. The loud prospector, who’d tried to catch her attention, had said ‘you just pick them off the ground’ and she’d imagined stooping down on the flat earth. Loud and pushy, he might have been, but she saw now he was also a modest man. Opals, if they were to be found, would be on cliff faces, down deep gullies, at the edge of precipitous chasms, not lying where casual walkers might find them. Alex, who couldn’t stand heights, could never hope to prospect. She shrugged; it was a foolish

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dream. Childish, really, not like her real Quest. Gran’s story must be true for it twisted her life permanently. A childish story like picking up opals wouldn’t do that. She set off, stepping from boulder to boulder, studying the rocks as she walked. Casual walkers hadn’t trodden this place; here they had a chance of finding an opal. Colin pushed through the bushes, ignoring the scratches to his legs. Brightly colored lizards, sunning themselves on the smooth rocks, darted away as he approached. The thorny bushes and small animals, so different to the English ones he was familiar with, fascinated him and he stopped frequently to examine them closely. Opals he could care less about. That was another way he and Tracy had been illmatched. Her love of shiny stones and metals was a thing he didn’t share. He didn’t want to own them or buy them, and he had no idea which stones brought out the blue in her eyes or the gold in her hair. Even in the basics of adornment, they’d disagreed. She like gold, he liked silver. He said it was because she was a sun worshipper; she could bask in the sun for hours and did on beaches in Spain or Greece, while he favored the Lunar Goddess, cold and white. Tracy never liked hiking over windswept moors and fells in cool British weather. He watched Alex picking her way from rock to rock, her long legs, so shaky on the climb, carried her confidently over even this rough ground. She sprang from place to place as sure footed as a cat. Her khaki safari shirt with its matching khaki kilt suited her slim, elegant figure and complemented her tanned skin and auburn hair. And she was as different from Kathy as she could be. When he looked at Kathy, he saw a bright, bubbly girl in a tiny bikini; no matter what she was wearing, she belonged on a beach in a crowd. Alex was womanly, elegant, too reserved, at least with him, yet strangely insecure. If Alex went on a beach, it would

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be in a one-piece suit that accentuated her slender grace. He shook his head in dismay. He hated beaches. What was it about Australia that made you imagine your life as one long summer’s day at the coast? He saw Alex look across at him and frown. She jabbed her finger at the ground, pointedly reminding him of his duty. She was right, of course. He was supposed to be finding opals not studying the flora and fauna -- or admiring her. Colin returned to his task, with the same lack of enthusiasm he’d had before. "Colin, come quick." Her call caught his attention and he looked up at once, imagining her in trouble. She wasn’t. She was standing under an overhanging ledge of the rock face where they were to stop. He hurried to join her, thankful of any change in the tedious search. "Do you think this is one?" Alex asked when he arrived at her side. She stroked a smooth, milkywhite stone that protruded from the slab of rock above her head. "I don’t know," Colin admitted. "The only way I know something’s an opal is when it’s mounted in a ring with a sign beside it saying ‘Opal, $100’. I’ve never seen one undressed before." "It looks like the ones they showed us, doesn’t it?" "It does," he agreed, "and even if it’s not an opal it is a pretty stone. It would polish up nicely for a keepsake." "How are we going to get it down?" Alex asked. Colin looked about. "These will do it," he said, picking up a wedge-shaped rock and a rounded one for a hammer. "Put your hands under the stone," he said, "and I’ll try to knock the thing out." He hit the wedge firmly and a fist-sized piece of rock dropped into Alex’s hands. "Too easy," Alex cried excitedly. "Only there’s more rock than opal here." "I’ll chip away at the edges," Colin said, "but I

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don’t want to go too close in case I break it." "Then it could be earrings," Alex said with a laugh. Colin shook his head. Alex may be different from Tracy but obviously not so different that she didn’t see everything as jewelry. He chipped away till the rock was palm-sized. Then he stopped. "We’ll let someone with proper tools take it from here," he said handing it back to her. "It does look like an opal," Alex said, staring into the milky stone where sparks of pink, blue, and green light twinkled in its depth, reflecting the sun’s bright white. "We’d best get back," Colin said reluctantly. He’d enjoyed this last hour more than he would have believed he could. There was an innocence to Alex that drew you to her even when she was saying things that drove you away. "If it is an opal, you’ll want to negotiate a price or a setting for it at the shop." "It’s a fine stone, luv," the man at the shop said when he’d studied it. "Not first-rate but a good color and size. I could do you a nice brooch or pendent or a ring and matching earrings maybe?" Alex looked at Colin. "What do you think?" she asked. "What would the different things cost?" he asked the man. The shop owner gave them prices for gold and silver mounts and showed some settings to Alex. "How long would it take?" Colin asked as Alex examined the samples. "A week or so, depending how busy we are," the man said. "We send them by courier so you’d have it in days of it being ready." Colin watched Alex running the silver thread of a pendent necklace through her fingers, her eyes glowing with excitement. He made, for him, an instant decision. "Have you made your mind up?" he asked. "Yes," Alex said. "I’m going with silver and this

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kind of pendent." Colin handed his Visa card to the man. "Put it on this, please," he said. "No, I can’t let you buy it," Alex cried. "I can’t give you anything in return." "When you come to England, you can buy me a present. Then we’ll be square," Colin said, feeling pretty sure she never would. Amazingly, the thought saddened him. "Please accept it as a gift from me to you." Alex kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I didn’t mean for you to buy it, you know. It’s much too expensive." "We found it together," Colin said, "and when you wear it, I hope you’ll remember this day." "I will," Alex said seriously. She didn’t add that she wouldn’t need a present for that. The whole two days had been everything a new start should be. Even when she’d slipped up badly, reverting to her old ways, he’d been generous and forgiving. Too forgiving really, she thought sadly. If he’d wanted her, as she wanted him to want her, she’d have felt his displeasure. They took their seats on the coach feeling all the anti-climax that attends trips as they draw to a close. The old people felt it too. They were exchanging phone numbers and addresses with people they’d never call or write to. "When do you fly back to England?" Alex asked as casually as she could. He hadn’t mentioned seeing her again, and she longed for a sign that he felt as she did. She wanted to see him tonight, after they left the coach, but thought he was probably seeing Kathy, and she was afraid he’d snub her if she suggested meeting. "The day after tomorrow," Colin answered. Then continued, grimacing, "at nine in the morning. So, I have to be at the airport by six. When do you go back to Wadeville?" "Saturday," Alex said. "I’m staying at my Dad’s for a few days."

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"Your Mum and Dad must have been really angry with each other to keep you in the dark the way they did," Colin said questioningly. "I guess," Alex replied, "but I bet Gran had a lot to do with it. He wasn’t good enough, you see. Not an aristocrat like George William Wade the third." "Your step-grandad?" Colin asked. Alex nodded. "Yes," she said, "and the heir to the Wade family fortune." "So Gran got herself another rich man," Colin said shaking his head in amazement. "She sure did," Alex said, "the scheming golddigging old so-and-so." "It could be a coincidence," Colin protested. "Apart from rich people’s daughters," Alex replied sarcastically, "how many regular girls meet one heir, let alone two?" "It does seem a mite suspicious," Colin agreed. Then he asked, "If your step-grandad was an heir, why aren’t you rich? Why are you bothering about the de Cheney fortune when you should have the Wade’s money?" "Another sad story, I’m afraid," Alex said. "Gran’s luck was dreadful. When she met George Wade, he told her about how the Wades owned all the land round the town of Wadeville, how the town was named after them, and a lot more, they had mines and shares and stuff." "He was from the poor branch of the family?" Colin guessed. "Not at all," Alex said, "the bit about him being the heir was perfectly true. Unfortunately, or maybe he didn’t know, all the rest was no longer true. The Depression had wiped out their shares, the mines had never come to anything, and his Dad had been a gambler in his youth and mortgaged the property. Much of it had been sold off by the time George and his new English wife got home and the family couldn’t afford most of the decencies in life any more, like servants or hired hands for the farm. George and Gran had to do real farm work just to

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get by." "That still doesn’t explain why you’re poor," Colin said, "even a farm you have to work yourself is worth serious money when you sell it." "My step-grandad was a drinker and he bet a lot, like his Dad," Alex said, "and like his Dad he lost more than he won. By the time he had his accident, a tractor he was driving rolled over and crushed him to death, he’d lost most of the farm and the insurance company refused to pay the full value of his life insurance because he was drunk when he crashed." "This doesn’t sound too good," Colin said. "Where did your Dad come into it?" "Right about then," Alex said, "He came to the farm as an odd job man who did everything. Then he married Mum and probably saw himself as becoming the manager of the place, only Gran wouldn’t let him near the money or the books and they quarreled a lot. This lasted about the six years of my early life until Dad walked out leaving the two women to make the best of it and, as they didn’t know or care about animals and crops, it wasn’t a success. According to Gran, ‘we got out with only the shifts on our backs’ and rented a small house in town. That’s where I live today." "Your Mum can’t have been very old when she died," Colin said. "Life’s unfair you know," Alex said. "She never smoked or drank, we ate only food from our own garden, or the local store, all the things they tell you to do, and she got cancer." "It must be very hard for you," Colin said, "when you were so close." Alex looked at him suspiciously, then decided he was serious. "We weren’t close," she said bitterly, "I wish we were, but Gran was always in the way. If Mum and I began to talk, Gran would muscle in determined to ‘have her say’ only she didn’t want to have her say. She just wanted to keep her daughter

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to herself." "You shouldn’t be so hard on your Gran, you know," Colin said. "She did what girls were supposed to do then, marry well. If fate had been kinder, I’m sure she would have been too." "You don’t really believe me, do you?" Alex said crossly. "Everything I say, you put down to adolescent rebelliousness or something." "Of course I believe you," Colin said, frowning. She was ready to go off in a tantrum again and he needed to stop her quickly. "I was just saying you lived so closely with your Gran and Mum you may have been too close to see the big picture, particularly with your Mum. She must have found it difficult caught between you and the old lady." "I wish I’d had more time with Mum," Alex said, acknowledging his argument without agreeing to it. "Gran only died a year ago and Mum’s been sick most of the time since. I’ve missed her so much these past few weeks." "I can imagine," Colin said, relieved he’d been as understanding with her as he had. Once or twice he’d come close to giving her a piece of his mind, now he was glad he hadn’t. Given her experience this past year, it was no wonder she was so emotional. "This is going to sound terrible," Alex said softly, "but I want to tell someone. There were lots of times, when I was growing up, that I wished she were dead. She never stood up for me when Gran was being nasty or stood up for herself either. I despised her for that. Even lately when she was sick, I kept thinking what a release it would be for both of us. I never knew how much I loved her." "I think we all find our parents embarrassing when we’re growing up," Colin said, "and when we see them in pain we probably do think dying would be for the best. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over it." Alex nodded. His sympathy eased her mind a little, but he had no idea. How could he? His parents

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would be nice people living nice lives wanting the best for their children, not a lonely depressed single Mum with an overbearing Mother crushing the life out of her. But despite all the unkindness, Mum was her only friend. She was her Mum’s only friend too, as she’d discovered at the funeral that no one attended. "If you’re going to your Dad’s," Colin said, "you’ll probably be busy tomorrow but I wondered if you’d like to explore Sydney with me. If you’d rather not…" "I’d love to," Alex interjected before he could finish. "I was going to ask you, but I thought you might be seeing Kathy." "I am this evening," Colin admitted. "Then she’s off on another trip first thing in the morning." Seeing two women at the same time wasn’t a situation he’d ever been in before, and he felt a bit guilty, though he couldn’t see what he was doing wrong. He hadn’t planned it this way, and he wasn’t promised to either of them.

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Chapter Four "It’s a lot colder on the sea than it was in the mountains," Colin said as the Captain Cook tour boat headed out from the dock into the open waters of Sydney harbor. Alex, whose summer dress left most of her upper body bare, agreed. Despite the blue sky and bright spring sunshine, she was shivering. The wind still had a real winter edge to it. Across the sparkling water, the Opera House glowed, a mother-of-pearl confection on the near shore. Sydney sprawled around its harbor, picture postcard perfect. Their tour boat carried only a few early season tourists; Colin and Alex and four other people were on board, a party of two couples. One couple was in spring slacks and jackets, the other couple were wrapped in winter clothes. The woman wore a lush fur coat and was complaining to her friends. "I don’t know how you stand these bitter winters in Sydney," she said, "Brisbane’s so much warmer." Colin smiled. Even with the sea breeze, this was a summer’s day where he came from. The couples went inside, leaving the open rear deck to Alex and Colin. He glanced at Alex; she was clearly very cold. "Shall we go inside too?" he asked. Alex shook her head. "No," she said, "I like it out here." She didn’t add ‘because we’re alone’ though she wanted to tell him that. Colin took off his jacket and put it round her shoulders. "Here," he said. "If we’re staying out, you’ll need this." Alex didn’t protest. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and closed the zip. "Thanks," she said. "Will you be all right?" "My golf shirt’s a lot warmer than your sun dress," Colin replied, hugging her and chafing some heat back into her arms. When Alex laid her head on his shoulder, he found he was stuck. Like it or

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not, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he did, he sat with his arm around her while she leaned against him. Two lovers, if anyone was watching. Maybe they were; every couple is as different as the individuals in it. He was different with Kathy and Tracy, they liked different things and he responded differently to their needs, it only made sense that he would be different with Alex. It was warmer back on land. but Alex didn’t offer to return the jacket. She liked wearing it. She liked the idea that he was enveloping her and imagined she could smell him in the fabric. They strolled through the park, heading for the Opera House, enjoying the sights, and talking of nothing -and everything important. She hadn’t told him when she was definitely coming to England and, with her rising confidence, this seemed the moment. "I want to visit you next week or the week after," she said in a rush, anxious to say it before her courage failed. "Would that be all right?" Colin hesitated, considering, then replied, "Christmas would be better, I’ll…" He stopped because Alex had pulled her hand from his and stormed ahead. The pain in Alex’s heart was like nothing she’d experienced even in these last weeks where she’d learned all about love and loss. He didn’t want to see her. He had some other woman back home. She might have known. She did know! From the first, she’d seen he was just after sex. That’s what today was about, a last chance to get inside her knickers before flying home. She strode angrily on, her mind raging against love, men, and Colin in particular. Colin stared after her. This time he was not bemused or amused. She met him today of her own free will and at his invitation. He was not having his last day spoiled by her sulks or tantrums. With quick strides, he advanced on Alex who seemed oblivious to his approach. So much the better, he thought grimly, she’d know soon enough. He swung his arm up and down, his open hand landing with a

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sound SMACK on her bottom. "Ow," Alex yelped and spun round. Seeing his grim expression, she backed up to the iron railing that edged this part of the path, preventing unwary walkers from tumbling down the steep slope behind it. She grabbed the rail with both hands to stop him spinning her round and swatting her again. "What are you playing at?" Colin demanded. "You’re the one playing games," Alex retorted. "I want to see you. You obviously aren’t so keen to see me. I don’t care what you say, I’ll come to England when I like. It’s nothing to do with you. I don’t need your permission." "If you’d listened," Colin said in exasperation, "you’d have heard why I suggested waiting till Christmas. If you come before then, I will only have the evenings because I’ll be at work." "Oh," Alex said, her heart sinking. She’d done it again, letting Alexandra crash about in self-centered self-pity. "Sorry, I thought…" Well, she couldn’t say what she thought. "Did you think?" Colin asked. "I suppose not," Alex admitted, finding it hard to meet his eye now. "Then why do you do these things?" Colin continued in that awful tone she knew led nowhere good. Alex didn’t answer; she studied his shoes instead. Telling him ‘because she felt like it’ would be honest but not helpful. It was how she had felt, angry and hurt, snubbed by his unenthusiastic response. Now that she understood he was considering options of how to spend the most time with her and not the least, as she’d assumed, she felt differently. She felt guilty. "Turn around," Colin said. Fearing the worst, Alex obeyed. She gripped the rail again, this time facing the slope and park below. She knew she should bend over, only there were people down there. They weren’t so close as to be embarrassing, but she didn’t want to make her

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inevitable punishment so obvious that they’d take notice. She leaned forward a little to present her bottom to him, hoping it would be enough and he wouldn’t insist on more. "Oof," she gasped as his hand smacked firmly down her right cheek. It wasn’t so bad. Her dress and panties protected her more than she expected. Despite being summery thin, the lightness of her skirt, billowing about in the breeze, muffled the spank. "Ow," she squeaked as his hand landed on her left buttock. The people below didn’t seem to notice anything. The two spanks had straightened her upright, and she felt the hem of Colin’s jacket once again rubbing on her tingling bum. She leaned forward. "Ooo," she gasped as another swat splatted her right cheek. She gripped the rail and held her position. May as well get it over with, as Gran used to say when Alexandra fought to escape from her lap. Colin, one eye on his surroundings and the other on the job in hand, spanked Alex’s left cheek again. Her acceptance of her chastisement gave him confidence, and his early nerves were fading. However, he realized, this would not do. There was no way he could impress upon her the depth of his displeasure here. Colin stepped forward and wrapped his arms round her, taking her hands from the rail and cuddling her to him. Her hair smelled of flowers and the sea as he whispered in her ear, "We’ll discuss this further when we get back to my hotel, young lady." Alex sighed with relief. He wasn’t going to walk off, as she’d feared he might. She knew so little about men, what they would think was unacceptable behavior and what was just plain naughty, what would end her hopes and what would not. "Yes," she said quietly. It was no more than she

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expected. What she didn’t expect was his finger under her chin, lifting her face up to his -- or his mouth on hers. For a moment the kiss was disappointing, she felt his touch without excitement. Then slowly she relaxed, and the feeling she’d grown to love when he was near washed through her veins, and she pressed against him hungrily. His hand slid sensuously along her face, brushing her ear until it cradled her head, supporting her as he pressed harder on her mouth. Timidly, Alex parted her lips, inviting him to enter. The tips of their tongues met, and Alex squirmed round in his grasp to crush him against her breasts. The memory of Kathy in just such a position filled her mind, and Alex lifted her foot, leaving it hovering in the air behind her. Why, she couldn’t say, except it helped her feel the moment better. Her toes tickled, her bottom tingled, her heart pounded, her mouth was overdosing on pleasure… and now she knew why women risked all the pain. No matter what happened in future, the few moments of increasing intimacy she’d shared with Colin made her feel whole, and each moment was a new peak. From each new peak she could see another one, higher and brighter still, so close she could feel it waiting for her to start climbing. Colin opened the hotel room door and ushered her inside. Alex went slowly. Throughout the day she’d thought of it, thrilling herself at the idea of being so intimate with him, having him see her ‘there’, having him see her prostrate across his lap, submitting to him, presenting herself to him for punishment. But now the time was upon her, the time when he and she ‘discussed’ her behavior again, she wasn’t in a hurry to begin. They’d kissed and cuddled all day, now he’d be even closer to her. Would he spank her bare bottom? She wanted him to and didn’t want him to. Would she cry? She wanted to and didn’t want to. Would he scold her? And if he did, would it be before or after? Her mind flip-flopped back and

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forth, imagining the worst and the best and she didn’t know which was which. Yes, she did. The worst would be if he let her off with a caution. If she’d learned one thing these past days, it was that the new Alex couldn’t manage her emotions without help. "I’ll have my jacket back now, please," Colin said after the door was shut and he joined her in the middle of the room. Alex pouted. "Can’t I keep it?" she asked. "You can have it to go home in," Colin said. "It will be cool this evening and you’ll need it then." Satisfied, and irrationally happy considering the circumstances, Alex handed over the jacket. Now she’d have a real keepsake. The opal pendent was nice but the jacket was something of his. She watched Colin toss the jacket on a nearby armchair and waited for him to begin. He seemed to tower above her. Though she was tall for a woman and only half a head shorter than he was, she felt about four feet high and four years old. His next words didn’t make that feeling any better. "Now, young lady," he said, "you and I need to talk." You may need to talk, Alex thought. I’m not saying a word. I know from past experience where talking gets me. "When you come over at Christmas," it had been decided she would be in England then, "I don’t want any repetition of the behavior I’ve put up with these past days. Do you hear?" Alex nodded. "I said ‘do you hear?’" Colin repeated. "Yes," Alex whispered. "And will you promise to think before you have any more tantrums?" "I’ll try," Alex answered. "Trying isn’t good enough," Colin said. "I don’t want to spend two weeks having my head bitten off for God knows what." "I can only try to do my best," Alex persisted. "I

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can’t help being me." "Then you might as well know right now, I won’t put up with it," Colin said. "If you can’t behave yourself, I’ll help you with some attitude adjustment until you do behave." Alex pouted but said nothing. "Is that clear?" Colin demanded. She’d better understand what she was getting herself into. Their time together researching her roots would be miserable if she didn’t behave. Digging in the past always leads to unpleasant surprises, and setbacks, and an unstable companion would only make the job that much harder. "I’ll behave when I visit," Alex said glowering at him. "Now, are you happy?" "No, I’m not happy," Colin said. "You’ve promised good behavior in future, but I brought you here to discuss the recent past." Alex went back to studying his shoes. Promising to be good from now on was easy; knowing how she’d been behaving wasn’t as easy. She’d been unhappy about it too. "Have you anything to say for yourself," Colin asked. Alex shook her head. Her throat was too dry to speak. "Then I’ll say some things in your defense," Colin continued, to Alex’s alarm. Why was he doing that? Was she to be let off with a caution after all? "Your Gran and Mum died recently leaving you alone or so you thought. Then you discovered you have a Dad and half-brothers," Colin said slowly, "I imagine you’re feeling pretty stressed out. Not your usual self, perhaps. I can understand that…" Alex listened with rising dismay. If he knew anything about her, he’d know she was snappish all the time, not just now. Panic drove her to cry out, "Nonsense, it isn’t like that at all." "Then what is it like?" Colin asked quietly. "I-I-I," Alex stuttered, then stopped. She couldn’t explain so he’d understand. Returning to

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her study of his shoes, she felt his finger and thumb grasp her earlobe before she saw his hand move. The short walk to collect the chair from the room’s writing desk, and the equally short walk back to the center of the room, were all over too quickly for Alex. This was the part she hated most, when you knew you were going to get it and couldn’t escape. Well, the worst part other than when you were actually getting it. The horrible bit after, when your bottom ached and your eyes were sore from crying, was the worst too. It was all bad, she decided. At least he didn’t have a hairbrush. That nightmare was thankfully not present. Colin sat, and Alex was looking him straight in the eyes because he’d tugged her to his side by her ear, bent slightly, and her hands reaching down to his thigh for support. "Any explanation to offer yet?" Colin asked, loving the expression in her brown eyes, timid yet accepting her fate. Alex looked down at his lap and thought, ‘I’ll be comfortable there.’ She flushed slightly at this weird idea and shook her head. "Then over you go, my girl," Colin said, letting go of her ear and watching her slide downward to land firmly across his thighs. He patted her bum and she promptly put her hands back to cover it. "I’ll take those," Colin said, clasping her hands in his left one. "And I’ll take these," he continued, flipping her skirt over her back and grasping the waistband of her panties. Alex was overcome with panic. "Do you have to?" she pleaded. This intimacy was too much, too soon. "Couldn’t you just push them aside, please?" Colin hesitated. She was genuinely frightened at this step; he could feel her trembling. Her heart thumped against his leg and she’d twisted round agitatedly to see his response. "Very well," he said, slipping his fingers inside the thin material, pushing it into the crevice between her buttocks. Her relief, settling back

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across his lap, convinced him he’d done the right thing. She’d take her punishment better if she was relaxed with what was happening and, for both of them, it would be a more pleasant, if such a concept were possible for her, first time experience. He patted her cheeks, watching them wobble gently at his touch. Goosebumps immediately sprang up across her skin, rough to his touch but satisfying to his eyes. She seemed to feel her predicament, as she should. He placed his hand across both cheeks, hiding the white oval bump of her panties, and studied the sight before him. In all his dreams it had never been this perfect. Her long legs stretched out to the floor at his right and her head and shoulders hung submissively down from his left thigh, her hair trailing to the floor before her face. Her shoulders, bottom, and legs were bare, only her waist was clothed by the bunched up dress. He stroked her rounded cheeks, enjoying watching them flutter and her legs twitch at his touch. "As you’ve given me no reason not to punish you and lots of reasons why I should," Colin said, "I’m going to do just that." He raised his hand and brought it down with a light smack on her right cheek. He frowned. That was no good. He tried again on the other cheek and was pleased to see Alex’s foot kick up. He repeated the smacks, alternating cheeks, leaving a generous amount of time between each. Alex felt herself growing wet, as she always did, and was glad she still had her knickers on. On the other hand, this was wrong. It wasn’t leading anywhere. If she’d been asked, she’d have begged for an easy spanking and walked away a happy girl -- or thought she would. But the thought of getting up from his lap without her senses reeling, was too embarrassing. How would they face each other? Each knowing the job hadn’t been done? "I’m not made of glass, you know," she said, when a particularly weak smack had ineffectually

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tickled her cheek. Her words stung Colin, and he brought his hand down harder, flattening her buttock and causing a strangled squeak to escape from Alex. The next set her kicking in earnest, and her hair flew up like a halo around her head. Another six and her toes were scrabbling to get a grip on the carpet so she could escape, and Colin was pressing firmly down on her back to stop her. "Still think I’m being too soft?" Colin crowed as Alex began to beg for mercy. "No-ooooo," Alex cried arching her back in another effort to escape. "Ow-oooo. Stop! I’m sorry." "Not as sorry as you’re going to be," Colin said grimly, still stung by her earlier criticism. "Please," Alex begged, "ow, ow, ow," she screeched as three fast swats stung her tush. "Please stop. I’ll be good." She realized briefly, before another blistering wallop scorched her behind, that she’d been wrong before. The worst part was hearing yourself beg for mercy. "I’ll be good," she cried between spanks, "oh please, I’ll be good." "You’d better be," Colin replied, not slowing up even to speak, "or you’ll find yourself bottom up over my knee every day of your Christmas holidays. Do you hear?" "Yes, yes! Ow-ooo. Please stop," Alex sobbed, her tears blurring her view of the carpet’s dull pattern even though she’d drooped down so low her nose was almost brushing the pile. All the fight was gone from her, and she lay docilely over his lap, waiting for him to decide she’d been punished enough. Seeing her surrender, Colin stopped and let her rest. When she was quiet, he helped her up and cuddled her, stroking her hair and murmuring forgiveness. Alex let the sight and sound of him, the overwhelming presence of him, soothe her to a

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point where she felt brave enough to do something she’d read, and dreamed, but never imagined she would have the chance to do. She slid from his lap onto her knees between his legs. With trembling fingers, she unclipped his belt and unzipped his fly. She glanced up at him, half expecting a disgusted rejection only to find he was stroking her face and hair. She buried her fingers inside his underclothes, struggling to bring out what she’d read about in only the most modern romances. Colin was too amazed to object when he saw what she intended and lay back as far as the upright chair would allow. Who would have believed she’d know of this, was the last coherent thought he had before he was lost to anything but pleasure. "Will you do me a favor when you get home?" Alex asked when the taxi came for her and they’d kissed for the last time. "If I can," Colin said. "Could you find my great-grandparents graves or something like that, and send me a photo? I’d like to have evidence as soon as possible. I don’t think I can wait till Christmas now I’ve begun." "No problem," said Colin squeezing her hand and closing the car door. He waved and watched till the taxi was out of sight then headed back to his room to pack. He had an early start in the morning. Though he was sorry his trip was over, he packed with a sense of excitement he hadn’t felt in years and his thoughts were all around how quickly he could get started on searching for Ashton de Cheney. His thesis on ‘regional adaptation’ could wait, as it had for five years or more. Alex’s story was about real people living real lives, not abstract movements of capital and ideas, and despite himself, he’d become interested. It would be fun. He’d promised Alex he wouldn’t research the actual people because that was her Quest, they were her family. He would look only for places or things and scout the territory for Alex’s arrival. She’d know the truth of Gran’s story by the time she went home

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after Christmas, if she went home, or Colin would hand back his History degree.

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Chapter Five Pushing open the front door, half expecting to find it stuck with a pile of junk mail like on a TV comedy, Colin entered his house. His neighbor had been as good as her word. The mail, all flyers and handouts, was stacked neatly on the hall table. He carried his cases inside and closed the door. This was when the monastic life failed to appeal. The house was silent and cold, not at all welcoming. For an hour, Colin bustled about, making tea, turning up the heating, unpacking, enjoying the activity after being cooped up in planes and taxis for a day. When the short November daylight disappeared, and the lights were on, he felt strong enough to listen to the messages on his answering machine whose light had blinked accusingly at him each time he passed it. The first message was from Tracy. "Hi Colin, it’s me again. Please call, we need to talk." The second message was from Tracy as well and she sounded less pleased. "Stop playing silly buggers, Colin, and phone me. I know you’re angry with me, I don’t blame you, but I can explain if you’ll let me." The third was more conciliatory and, from Colin’s point of view, more frightening. "Okay, so you really are away. I came to your house yesterday and spoke to your neighbor. Sorry I sounded cross on my last message; I thought you were ignoring me. Call me when you get back, please. We need to talk. You were right when you said my affair with Zak was a final fling, a last hurrah because you’d talked about having kids. I see that now and…" Her voice was cut off in mid-sentenc e by the tape running out of time. Colin erased the message and went on to the next. "Now I’ve got over that fright," Tracy continued

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as though she hadn’t been interrupted, "and I think kids would be a great idea. I’d like us to get back together. I know what I did hurt but I can make it up to you. Call me the moment you get home." Colin erased the message and moved on to the next. He was relieved when a different voice spoke. "Hi Colin, it’s Geoff. I’ve got a spare ticket for the Rovers game on the Saturday after you get back. You’ll be still jet-lagged so you won’t even notice how bad they are this year. Ring me right away so I can make this offer to a more deserving person if you can’t make it." Colin wrote Geoff’s number on the pad next to the phone. He wasn’t a big soccer fan, rugby was his favorite sport, but a few hours without the chance of Tracy pouncing on him were too good to miss. Despite his determination to be firm, he knew she’d talk him round. She always did. He poured a whisky and sorted through his mail, two-thirds junk and one -third bills. People didn’t write letters any more; he’d have to check his email for a friendly word. Colin decided to do that after a shower and some sleep. In the shower, he took stock of the recent changes in his life. Three weeks ago he’d left here as a quiet unassuming teacher in a boy’s prep school, and he’d returned as James Bond. In one short vacation he’d had sex with a stunning young blonde, spanked and been pleasured by a beautiful brunette (surprisingly sophisticated behavior from a woman who claimed never to have had a boyfriend), and now his ex-wife was practically begging to slide back into his bed. Why hadn’t he been this desirable when he was eighteen? One thing he was sure about, he had to resist Tracy’s advances firmly. She would wheedle her way back into his life if he listened. Tracy was like the Sirens in Greek mythology. Only by binding himself to the mast could Odysseus hope to hear their seductive song and escape unharmed. With Tracy, the reverse was true. Colin would be in

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eternal bondage if he once listened to her song. He would be firm, rude even, if need be. Colin turned the car into his street and noticed immediately the red Mazda sports car standing outside his house. He slowed to a crawl. Was Tracy camped on his doorstep already or was it a coincidence, an upmarket sales rep maybe? He pulled in behind the Mazda and saw Tracy swivel round in its driver’s seat. She waved and he grinned weakly in reply. Gathering his groceries and library books, Colin got out. He’d have to meet her sooner or later and the street was fairly neutral territory. He tried to imagine himself being firm when she cried, groveled, and begged for forgiveness. Before he’d got it sorted in his mind, Tracy kissed and hugged him. "Give me your key," she said, breaking away, "and I’ll open the door for you." Colin handed her the key and watched her stride confidently up the path to the house, her behind rolling as invitingly as ever. He slammed the car door and staggered after her with the bags and books. It was the library books he’d gone out for, to return the unread one, he was surprised when he hadn’t wanted to part with it because it reminded him of Alex, and get out others that might reference the de Cheneys. His plan had been to skip through some of them over a light lunch, then head off to Greater Manchester to find the old village. His plan looked in serious danger of being derailed before it started. "How have you been?" Tracy asked as he dumped the groceries on the kitchen counter. "Fine," Colin replied. "And you?" "I’ve missed you," Tracy said wrapping her whole body around him. "Tracy," said Colin, "you left me, remember? You didn’t miss me then." "I didn’t know it then," she corrected him. "I

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soon came to my senses. All Zak and I had was sex. You and I have something finer and deeper. I couldn’t see that through the lust and then it was too late. Now, I’d like to start again." "We’ve been divorced nearly six months and separated nearly two years," Colin protested. "You can’t just pick up where we left off." "I’m not stupid," Tracy said. "I know I’ve got to win your love and trust all over again. I’m just asking for a chance to do it." Colin considered her offer. Alex was coming at Christmas and he didn’t want that spoiled. But what if she didn’t? And he wasn’t a monk. His trip had proved that, and he missed Tracy. It was true they were opposites, but opposites attract. Someone quiet like he was wouldn’t add to his life. Most of the friends they’d had were Tracy’s, as he’d learned after their separation, because she was outgoing and sociable. She made him whole. "Then, we’re going to take it slowly," Colin said at last. "I’ve a new girlfriend now." "That’s not what your neighbor says," Tracy scoffed. "She says apart from your Mother she hasn’t seen a woman here since you arrived." Women, Colin thought. They haven’t noticed the last million years of evolution at all. They’re still sniffing each other’s backsides to see who’s in heat. If he’d talked to the neighbor’s husband, they’d have talked about politics or sport -- not sex. "I met someone on holiday," Colin said, "and she’s coming here at Christmas. She’s going to get a fair chance too." "That’s great," Tracy said and kissed him briefly. "I’ve got six weeks to make you forget her." She kissed him again, feeling him relax as her tongue touched his, and tugged him toward the kitchen door and the stairs. Colin pushed her away firmly. "No, you don’t," he said. "That’s not slowly." "You can’t blame a girl for trying," Tracy said with a cheeky grin.

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"I guess not," Colin replied. "Anyway, I’ve got work to do this afternoon, so I have to get on." "What sort of work?" "I’m researching the de Cheney family for Alex, the woman who is coming over at Christmas." "What for?" Tracy asked. "Her Gran told her and her Mum they were related to the de Cheneys." "Can I come with you?" Tracy asked. "If you like," Colin answered hesitantly, "but, it isn’t really your thing. I’m just going to," he looked at the map he’d bought, "St. Wilfred’s church and a local library." "Then you go and have fun," Tracy said, hugging him tightly again, "and I’ll cook dinner for when you get back. I’ll be the good wife today." "You don’t have to do that," Colin said, embarrassed at her uncharacteristic domesticity. "You didn’t do anything so wifely when we were married." "So, it won’t awaken any unpleasant memories," Tracy said. "Except when we were engaged." "Yeah, I might have done it when I was winning you over," Tracy agreed. "A girl’s got to put her best foot forward at times like that." "I don’t remember cooking as your best asset." "Well, you’ve just turned me down in that department," Tracy replied, "so I’m falling back on cooking instead of the bed." "I mean it, Tracy. You don’t have to do weird things…" "I want to," Tracy interjected, "I’ve been so lonely lately it will be nice to eat in company." Colin didn’t make the sarcastic response he first thought; instead he said, "Okay, I’ll be back about five." Then, realizing she might be anticipating an invitation to stay, continued, "Where are you staying tonight? Or are you driving home after dinner?" "I was hoping I could stay the weekend with

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you," Tracy replied, "but if you’d rather I didn’t, I could book into a hotel." "You can stay for the weekend," Colin said as calmly as he could. He’d make up the bed in the spare room. One of them could sleep in it. "How come you aren’t at work today?" "I took a day off so I could be here to welcome you home." "And, how did you know when I was coming home?" "I called the school," Tracy replied. "They told me. I got your address from the phone book. See, I’m quite a detective." "Maybe you should do the research and I should stay home and cook," Colin answered, putting his arm around her waist. Having Tracy stay the weekend was a surprise but not an unpleasant one. His weekends had been lonely too. "Not such a bad idea," Tracy said pressing against him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against her breasts. "My degree was just as good as yours, and your cooking was always better than mine." "You are too modest," Colin said. "When you cooked, the results were just as good as mine." "Well, run along and do your good deed," Tracy said, dismissing him with a pat to his behind, "and let’s see if I can’t get to your heart through your stomach." "I’m afraid I can’t be of much service," the vicar of St. Wilfred’s said, when Colin met him at the church door. "I’ve only been here about a year and I’m not even a local." Colin wasn’t surprised at his words. With his curly red hair and pale freckled face, the vicar looked about seventeen but was presumably older than that. "The parish registry will have the information I want," Colin said. "And the church itself," the vicar replied. "There are plaques and pews commemorating de Cheneys

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as far back as the 1600s." "May I take photos?" "Certainly," said the vicar. "Australia, you said. The descendant lives in Australia?" "Yes," Colin said shortly, anxious to get on with his work. "The ladies of the local Historical Society would be interested to hear from her," the vicar continued. "They’re always on the look out for stories of old Ashton de Cheney. There’s so little left now." "I’ll ask Alex when I speak to her next," Colin said, edging past the vicar and into the dimly lit church. The winter sun barely penetrated the old stained glass and the vicar had turned off the lights as he was leaving. He followed Colin inside and turned the lights back on. "This old church was made for brighter days than these heathen times," the vicar said with a sad smile. Colin looked about. Apart from the windows, the church was simply furnished, more Low than High Anglican. Perhaps the de Cheneys had moved from Catholic to a simpler form of worship down the centuries. It wasn’t unusual in old families. "The de Cheney pews were over there," the vicar said. "They had their own door too, at that side of the church. A path led straight from the door to their house, you can see where it ran if you go round to that side." "Thank you, vicar," Colin said as finally as he could. He really wanted to look about on his own. "I must be off," the man replied, "be sure to pull the door closed when you go." Colin scanned the plaques on the wall, noting the dates, following the family through the centuries. It was a conventional record, elder son followed elder son as Baronet, while younger brothers joined the Army and Navy where they died, some violently, most not, without particular distinction. Finally, he found Sir Thomas and Lady Maud on

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a simple plaque, as befitted wartime austerity, placed by ‘friends and neighbors’. The poignancy of the plain words, commemorating the end of centuries of de Cheney life, affected Colin more than anything he’d ever researched before. "I’m glad they were well enough liked," he said quietly to no one in particular, "for the village to want to remember them." Somehow the knowledge made his inquiries even better. Colin took notes and pulled the door closed, ensuring it locked. He wasn’t a churchgoer but his sense of history included ancient beliefs and nowadays churches were no safer than they had been in Viking times. That was the extent of modern progress; we’d returned to the Ninth Century AD. He hurried off to the library, hoping to catch the staff before they started closing. ‘The staff’ was one elderly lady who looked like she read every book she stocked. "We don’t have a lot of information on the old village," she said, when he told her what he was looking for. "What we have is through here." She led him into a smaller room where non-fiction books were kept. "Most people go to Manchester for historical research," she continued, "even the schoolchildren. We just do novels nowadays." Her tone of voice said plainly that she wasn’t happy with the fact. "Are you from this area?" Colin asked. "Not really, not from old Ashton," she replied. "We came here in the Seventies." Colin thanked her for her help and selected the local newspaper file from the computer, a surprisingly modern addition he wouldn’t have expected from his perception of the librarian. He punched in ‘keywords’ and was immediately rewarded by articles from the bombing in 1944. Sometimes he felt historical research was getting too easy. Colin read the articles with a sinking heart. He printed them out and placed them in his folder

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before going back to see the librarian. "Did you find what you wanted?" she asked when she saw him approach. "Enough for today," Colin said as cheerfully as he could. "I wondered, the vicar mentioned a ‘historical society’ are you a member?" "Certainly I am," she replied. "Ashton de Cheney in the Stuart period is my forte. Why do you ask?" I would have guessed prim Victorian, Colin thought smiling inwardly. She doesn’t look the swashbuckling Cavalier or grim Puritan type. "I wondered if any of the Society was familiar with the events of November 25, 1944?" "Well we all are, of course. It was a sad day for the village. In a way that was the day the village died, though it wasn’t until after the war it disappeared into Greater Manchester." Colin explained his interest and restrained himself from asking if there was any mention of an Adelaide Fisher in the Historical Society records as a wife or fiancée to Jocelyn. His promise to Alex, only to research the locations, forbade it. "The vicar suggested Alex and the Society should meet, could you arrange that?" "I’d be delighted. I’m Celia Ormiston by the way," she said holding out her hand. "I’m always here, drop by when you know the dates your Australian friend will be in town." "I’ve a bit of work to do after dinner," Colin said as he and Tracy sat down to eat. "Okay," Tracy said, "but not too long. I’ve got us movies to watch, something to get you in the mood." Colin shook his head ruefully. He knew what James Bond would do, but he was pretty sure Colin Redesdale should make up the bed in the spare room. His biggest concern, however, was not Tracy’s determination to get her hands on his body. It was what to tell Alex. The vicar’s advice had proved to be devastatingly accurate. The local library’s archives

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had provided all he needed. The trouble was, it ended Alex’s quest before it had really begun. "You get on with your work," Tracy said when they’d finished eating. "I’ll clear away and wash up." "You’re being too nice," Colin said, though he had every intention of doing what she suggested. "Was I so bad when we were married that you think it weird if I do something nice?" "You were wonderful when we were married, as you well know, so don’t try to get round me with this guilt trip. I’m not falling for it. And you deserve to do dishes for the rest of your life." "Then why didn’t you fight harder to keep me," Tracy said, "if I was so wonderful." "We are too different, you and me. When you took up with Superman Zak, I realized I was holding you back. It seemed the best thing for you and, while I’m normally a pretty self-absorbed, selfcentered kind of person, this time I thought I would be more broadminded." "We’re not so different," Tracy cried. "I used to do your things with you and you enjoyed our social life as much as I did, didn’t you?" "In the beginning you did things I liked, later you didn’t. And yes, I enjoyed the parties in my own quiet way." "We can be the same again," Tracy said. "And, it will end the same again," Colin objected. "You’ll become bored, and I’ll become resentful." "It won’t end the same because we know how to prevent it," said Tracy, clearing the dishes. "You’re going to tell me when I’m being a bitch, and I’m going to tell you when you’re being boring." Colin shook his head in dismay as she disappeared into the kitchen. He was about to be boring already. Picking up the folder of photocopies and notes he’d made during the afternoon, he made his way to the living room’s one armchair. The folder opened at the printout that mattered and he read the article again.

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Death of Lord and Lady de Cheney Sir Thomas and Lady Maud de Cheney were killed instantly by two bombs that hit their family home, Cheney House, during Saturday night’s raid on Liverpool. Their deaths are made more poignant by the news their only son, and heir to the estate, Squadron Leader Jocelyn de Cheney, has been missing in action since Thursday night. Lord and Lady de Cheney’s charitable work among the poor of Manchester and their recent opening of Cheney House to destitute unmarried mothers will be remembered for as long as people of goodwill survive… Or at least until they’re buried, Colin thought sarcastically. Then he remembered the plaque and felt slightly ashamed at his cynicism. A complete list of the unfortunate girls killed in the tragedy is not yet available to your correspondent but one guest at least survived. Miss Adelaide Fisher was away from the house visiting friends that night… Colin stopped reading. Was any other interpretation possible? Did the word ‘guest’ suggest Adelaide was something other than an unmarried mother-to-be? He thought not. Now how was he to tell Alex without breaking her heart? She was reconciled to not inheriting a great estate but how easily would she take learning she almost certainly wasn’t even related to the de Cheneys? He decided to think very carefully about the letter that he’d have to write. He still hadn’t quite found the words when he went to bed; he’d been too distracted by Tracy and the movies. When they went to bed, they slipped back into their old married ways, so he still wasn’t able to formulate a letter that would give Alex hope. He’d have to sleep on it and, failing that, work on it during the Rovers game with Geoff. The gray morning light woke Colin early. Tracy

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lay asleep beside him, her golden hair with bottleadded red tints obscured half her face as the quilt covered only one pink-tipped breast, which rose and fell in time to her breathing. He kissed her softly, trying not to wake her. "Hello," said Tracy sleepily, "have you been waiting for me?" She reached out and, after a moments search, found his groin. "I see you have," she continued and climbed on top. "I was thinking, not waiting," Colin replied, as she began to move her hips. "Oh, well," Tracy said, running her fingers through his hair, "too late now. You should have said earlier." "Mmmm, I should have." They lay together quietly after, Tracy’s head on his chest and her always busy fingers playing with his pubic hair. "Strictly speaking," she said, after a few moments contented silence had passed, "from my point-of view, we’re still married." She watched his face to see how he’d take this. "Tracy!" Colin cried, appalled at the direction her mind was straying, "You were a lapsed Catholic when we met, when we married, and when we divorced." "True," said Tracy, "but the Church is much more accepting of other people’s marriages nowadays. It’s divorces they can’t accept. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. It’s funny how your mind goes back to the old ways when things go wrong." "We are not married, Tracy," Colin said firmly, "and I have someone joining me in six weeks who I intend to get to know better." "I know," said Tracy, "but we are good together, aren’t we?" As this was what Colin had been thinking before she woke, he wasn’t able to answer her question as he’d have liked. Life was never dull with Tracy about. With Alex, he’d have to be the one pushing

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them to mix with others, have fun, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it. Isn’t that why people married, he wondered, to have a partner who filled in the gaps in our own make-up, someone who made us whole? "I know you’re good for me," Tracy purred. "That must be why you left," Colin replied cruelly. Tracy winced. "I mean it," she said. "With you I get quiet, acceptance, intelligent conversation, and a civilized life. Until I spent time with Zak, I didn’t know how much I needed you." "As I remember it," Colin said desperately trying to keep her at bay, "you had a different way of describing our life together before." "You should have spoken up," Tracy said. "You’re too quiet about yourself." "Somehow, I knew it was all my fault," Colin said. "Not all your fault," Tracy said, "but some. You were always researching papers instead of doing your husbandly duty, and I felt neglected. I was neglected! We went a whole month without a fuck! That hurt. I looked up to you, and I wanted your love. I know women aren’t supposed to think like that anymore, but I do. I think you’re my idea of the ideal husband." "Much good your adoration did me," Colin sneered, not in the tradition of anyone’s ideal man. Tracy grinned and tugged his hair. "Your halo’s slipping," she said. "Well, you said ‘ideal’ not perfect," he replied. "Definitely not perfect," Tracy agreed. "Right," cried Colin wrestling her onto her back and tickling her till she begged for mercy. "I give in," Tracy said, when she could breathe, "you’re perfect." "That’s better, young lady," Colin growled. "Nothing less than perfect will do for me." "Yes, sir," Tracy purred, stroking his buttocks with her hands, "and will there be anything else you

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require today?" "Well, now you ask…" Colin said, letting the sentence die away unfinished. He would write to Alex tomorrow or Monday after work. Bad news could always wait. Colin picked up the phone. "Hello," he said absently, his focus still very much on the book in his hand. "I thought you were on my side," Alexandra yelled accusingly in his ear. "I am…" "You were supposed to be helping, not finding reasons to stop," Alexandra interrupted him angrily. "Alex, listen…" "No! You listen," she snapped. "You promised not to touch the people! They’re mine, not yours! You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You thought you’d show me what a clever little historian you are didn’t you? Well you can forget it. I’ll do it myself. Goodbye!" She slammed the phone down and sat at her desk fuming, Colin’s letter still clutched tightly in her shaking hand. How dare he say such things about her grandmother? How dare he research her family? As if she was some project he’d taken on to amuse himself! Colin was left hanging. He couldn’t call back because she hadn’t given him a phone number. He could only hope she’d read the letter again and call him when the Dr. Jekyll side of her personality regained control. The phone rang again and he picked it up expecting Alex. It was Tracy. "Are you still on for this weekend?" she asked. More so than you know, thought Colin. "Yes. Why?" "Paul and Jen are having a party and we’re invited." Colin smiled wryly. One weekend of doing ‘Colin’s stuff’ was all Tracy had managed. "Okay," he said. "I’m sure you won’t mind if I stay over at your place."

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"It’ll be great to have you stay," Tracy said. "You don’t mind about the party, do you?" "No. I don’t mind. Now get off the phone, I’m expecting a call." "From the Aussie Heiress as was, I suppose." "That’s right. Now go away." "You do know that whatever she does, I can do it better," Tracy said. "Good night, Tracy. I’ll see you Friday," Colin said with a laugh. This is ridiculous, he thought. I’m having an affaire with my ex-wife. His smile faded. Why had Jen and Paul invited him to their party? Because Tracy was down there, in their old stomping grounds, convincing all their old friends he and she were getting back together. Knowing Tracy, she’d probably told everyone she’d forgiven him and their old friends should be kind to him now he was back in Tracy’s favor. It wasn’t that she meant to behave badly; it was just the way she was. Colin shrugged. He was walking into a lioness’s den this weekend and like Daniel he would have to trust to his own goodness to see him safely home on Monday.

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Chapter Six "It’s good to see you again, Colin," said Paul when he opened the door to him. Jen, beaming, gave him a crushing hug. Colin felt as the Prodigal Son must have done, overwhelmed and suspicious. "Hello, Tracy," Jen said over Colin’s shoulder to his companion, "I hope you’re going to hang onto him this time." Colin couldn’t see Tracy’s silent response to this but he assumed it was acceptable for Jen led him into the house, her arm locked in his. "Make her suffer, Colin," she said as she hung up his coat. "She deserves to." "I love you too, Jen," Tracy said, putting her arms around Colin and Jen. "You know what I thought," Jen said. "I’m on Colin’s side." "Then we’re on the same side now," said Tracy, hugging Colin who was uneasily wondering if he was going to be refereeing a fight soon, they seemed to be in such violent agreement. The doorbell rang and Jen left them. Together, they entered the living room in search of drinks and company. "Jen didn’t like Zak, I take it," Colin said. "She thought Zak was a useless shit who’d dump me the moment he’d wrecked my life," Tracy said. "Obviously, Jen’s a better judge of character than I am." Colin nodded. He suspected that agreeing on this occasion would be counter-productive, women were like that. Tracy was anyhow. The sadness that had been growing in him these past days since Alex’s last call was pushed to the back of his mind as he met old friends and caught up on their news. Alex hadn’t called back so he could relax. Like it or not, his future most likely belonged with Tracy. The thought didn’t bother him too much; Alex was always something of a long shot. He just had to be sure this time that he had some control over Tracy’s

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wilder moments and that was going to start this weekend. His opportunity to exercise ‘some control’ looked like being postponed till another weekend. Tracy was on her best behavior at the party and even the following day when they spent a leisurely day in town, finishing up with a movie and a meal. Perhaps it was the two bottles of wine they had with the meal, or the two late nights, but Tracy woke on Sunday in a grumpy mood. Nothing Colin did was right, and he knew his moment had arrived. Only he was scared. He was so used to Tracy bossing him about that the thought of disciplining her for it now seemed unfair. He should of either done it years ago or not at all, it seemed to him as he struggled to stick with his plan. Lunchtime came and went while Colin was still wavering. Tracy seemed to be recovering her spirits, and the newly formed masterful side of Colin was afraid she was going to escape. The old, letsleeping-dogs -lie, side of Colin began to feel justified -- until Tracy turned on him again. "Why don’t you bugger off back up North and stop mooching about like a spare prick at a wedding?" "I was hoping you’d lighten up and we could go out for the afternoon," Colin replied bitterly. "It’s pissing down with rain and I feel like shit," Tracy said. "I’m not going anywhere and you hanging about is making me feel worse." "Very well," Colin said stiffly, "I’ll go." He strode into the bedroom and threw his few things in his overnight bag. This wasn’t how he’d planned it but he couldn’t see this as a moment to exercise control. It was her house and she’d every right to decide who she wanted in it. He practically ran downstairs and found Tracy waiting at the bottom wearing an expression of such derision that Colin’s blood boiled. "At times, you really are a pathetic wanker, you know," she said.

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Colin put down his bag. Now that the time had come, he felt strangely calm. The surge of anger he’d felt a second ago was gone, only an icy determination remained. He gripped her earlobe, struggling for a moment to adjust his thumb and finger to her stud earring, and set off back up the stairs, hauling Tracy along behind him. "Get off," she cried, grabbing his wrist to try and free herself. "I’ll get off soon enough," Colin replied, opening the bedroom door and ushering her into the room. The curtains were still closed from their late, joyless morning. Colin switched on the lights. "Got to let the dog see the rabbit," he said. He lifted the dressing table stool and carried it to the small space between the bed and the closet. "Don’t you dare," Tracy cried in outrage as she watched him sit and very deliberately make a lap. Colin tugged her to him, until her face was inches from his own. They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like eternity before Colin said, "Perhaps if I’d ‘dared’ years ago we would still be married." Tracy said nothing so he continued, "You said I was to tell you when you were being a bitch, I’m going to tell you right now." With that, he grabbed her arm with his free hand and pulled her, sprawling, across his knee. Tracy’s hands flew back to cover her rump and Colin took them in his own. "You get extra for trying to protect yourself," he said and lifted the hem of her bathrobe to her waist, tucking it under their joined hands. Her thin panties were next to go despite Tracy’s attempt to hang on to them by pressing on his thighs as heavily as she could with her hips. "Colin, I’ll never speak to you again if you spank me," Tracy cried out in frustration. Without her hands, and with her feet off the ground, she couldn’t do anything and her tender bottom, feeling horribly bare, tingled with frightened anticipation. "Oh shut up," Colin said, patting her rounded buttocks gently. "All I ever hear is you telling me

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what you will or will not do if I don’t behave -- and it seems to me I’m the only one of us who is expected to behave. That ends," he slapped her bottom sharply to emphasize the point, "if you’ll pardon the pun," he slapped her other cheek, bouncing his hand off it with a swatting action, "right here and now." Her cheek wobbled in response, a movement so appealing that Colin repeated the action again and again until Tracy’s right cheek was a florid pink. "Colin!" Tracy yelled, squirming against his arm and trying to avoid the rain of slaps that stung her behind. "Stop, right now! Yee-owwoo." Another flurry of spanks rained down on her left cheek until it felt as hot as its twin did. "I’ll stop when I’m good and ready," Colin said, warming to his task. His hand flew up and down, turning her behind redder and redder with each passing minute. "And when you’re ready," he said at last, halting to stroke and soothe her twitching flesh. "I’m more than ready," Tracy gasped. "I’m outraged." "Then you’re not ready," Colin said and began again, spanking her quivering butt while she kicked and yelled. "All right!" Tracy said when the heat had grown to unbearable levels. "Please stop." Colin paused and returned to stroking her now hot skin. "Better," he said, "but still a way to go." "I’ll do whatever you want," Tracy said, looking back at him red-faced but still, she hoped, seductively. Colin brought his hand down on her cheeks with a fearful SMACK. "If you think a quick blow-job will get you off the hook, young lady, you’re very much mistaken," he said, grinning at her trembling lip and expression of astonished hurt. "I want to hear from you some genuine words of remorse, contrition even, for the way you have behaved today and in the past…"

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"All right," Tracy interjected, his hand on her bum was a constant reminder, and warning, "I’m sorry." "That’s it?" asked Colin incredulously. "That’s all I get for what I’ve put up with today and too many other days?" "Very sorry?" Tracy said, fluttering her lashes at him in what she hoped was a winsome way. S-M-A-CK, Colin’s hand landed squarely on her bottom, scorching her sit-upon spot with a blistering spank. "Really sorry?" screeched Tracy, arching her back in an attempt to escape. "YEE-OWOOOO," she added when another smack rattled her teeth with its force. "I think," Colin said grimly, his hand resting lightly on her scarlet cheeks, "you need a moment to prepare a better apology than you’ve managed so far." "Yes, yes, I do," gasped Tracy, clutching at this reprieve, though she’d rather be clutching her aching bottom. "Then I’ll give you five minutes," said Colin, looking at his watch, "and if you haven’t found words to express your contrition by then, I’ll blister your backside till you can’t sit. Am I making myself clear?" He tapped her bottom with his fingertips, watching her buttocks twitch and squirm at his touch. "It’s not fair," Tracy complained. "Whatever I say, you won’t like and you’ll hit me again." "At this stage, Tracy, I’d welcome any words from you that even hinted at an understanding of your part in all of what I’ve suffered these past couple of years." "I thought this was about today," said Tracy, playing for time but flattered that her defection had caused him pain. It boded well for the future. "Today is part of the whole thing," Colin replied. "Today is just an example of the way you behave toward me all the time. I want you to acknowledge

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that." "See," said Tracy beaming at Colin triumphantly, "it wasn’t so difficult. All you need to do is communicate, just tell me. There was no need for violence." Colin felt the initiative slipping away from him and wished he’d kept going with the non-verbal communication. Giving a politician like Tracy an opportunity to speak was like handing guns to a serial killer. "I won’t be swayed by your weaselly words, Tracy. I want a plain apology and you have one minute left to give it." Tracy shrugged and looked at the carpet. "Okay," she said. "I’m sorry if anything I said or did has given you pain. Happy now?" "No," said Colin quietly, "I’m not." Her glib apology showed she just didn’t get it and hitting her harder wasn’t going to solve the problem. He let go of her hands and helped her to her feet. Tracy rubbed her behind gently. She felt an overwhelming urge to be hugged but an even stronger desire to hit out at Colin. As he turned to go, she said sarcastically, "Don’t feel you have to hurry back on my account." Colin didn’t reply. He ran quickly down the stairs, grabbed his bag, and slammed the door behind him. The phone rang, and Colin ambled from the kitchen to answer it, munching on a thick slice of toast. He’d been expecting Tracy to call and say they were finished. He was amazed that it had taken her so long. "Hello," he said, after swallowing his mouthful. "I’m sorry about last week, Colin" Alex said. "I was just so disappointed when I started reading your letter…" "I’m disappointed too," Colin said coldly. "With me?" Alex asked. "With you and your Gran," Colin replied, "and if you were here you’d be even sorrier. Have you read

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all my letter now?" "Yes," said Alex contritely. "So it’s not certain?" "Nothing is certain in history," Colin said, "but in this case there’s no ‘big picture’, no dynastic squabble, no territory to be won or lost, so it’s hard to see why the truth shouldn’t be as sad as it appears. It is happening more and more since we developed DNA testing, people learning ‘Dad’ isn’t their real father." "You think Gran made up the story when she realized everyone who knew the truth about her was dead?" "Yes, I do," Colin answered. "I thought it best you hear about it before you wasted your life savings on the airline ticket." "Don’t you want me to come?" Alex asked in dismay. "I understand if you don’t after the way I shouted at you, but I hoped you were wiser and more understanding than me." "Of course I want you to come over," said Colin. "I just want you to be prepared to enjoy your trip, visiting places you’ve heard so much about, and seeing me because you aren’t likely to hear anything to your advantage." "She couldn’t have made it all up," Alex cried in frustration. "It would be too cruel to make Mum and my lives a misery for a lie." "Maybe the story was just her way of keeping all of you apart from other people. Maybe she just liked being special and single. The story was her way of doing what she wanted to do anyway." "So that’s the end?" asked Alex. "No," replied Colin. "Like I said, it’s the most likely end, but we’re just beginning. Whenever you research history you always seem to get the bad news first." "So I should still come over?" Alex asked. "I want you to," Colin said, wondering if she’d heard a word of his earlier speech on this topic, "and by then I may have more hopeful news that will make the whole trip worthwhile."

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"I never thought I was an heiress, you know," Alex said, "but I thought I might get something from it, a family maybe, or… I don’t know what, a heritage, if you like. Now it looks like I’m more orphaned than I was before." "Is there somewhere I can call you when I get news?" Colin asked. "Letters aren’t a good way of communicating this stuff." "Call me here at work," Alex said and gave him the number. "If I get anything interesting, I will," Colin said. "I’m away next weekend so don’t expect a call for a while." "Where are you going?" Alex asked suspiciously, her antennae detecting more from his words than was spoken. "I’m visiting some old friends." "Will your ex-wife be there?" "Yes," Colin said. Alex felt sick. She couldn’t win against Kathy when he was in Australia and now she realized she had other rivals. She’d imagined, with Kathy gone, she’d have a clear field -- and she needed one for she had no skill in this. What chance did she stand against another enthusiastic, outgoing, fun-loving party girl? She’d had two days with Colin and got nowhere, except for the brief time she’d said sorry, while Kathy had, at most, two hours with him and slept with him both nights. "Are you still there?" Colin asked when the silence had gone on too long. "Yes, sorry," Alex replied hurriedly. Then added, "Are you sure you want me to visit?" "Very sure," Colin said. "Now get back to work and let me get some sleep." He hung up the phone with a smile. When one door closes -- and he was pretty sure Tracy would soon be calling to distance herself from him -- another re-opens. He thought of Tracy’s red face, when he let her up off his knee, and grinned. She was furious. He wished he’d done it when they were married. That

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way she’d have had something to complain about at the divorce. Still, she hadn’t accepted or enjoyed her experience and they’d parted on unfriendly terms. His visit this coming weekend to the South was supposed to include staying with Tracy but he thought it probably wouldn’t now. He’d give her till Thursday and, if she hadn’t phoned by then, call and confirm what he already knew. When Thursday night rolled round and Tracy hadn’t phoned, Colin’s first inclination to call her now seemed to him like weakness. It was a battle of wills and whoever phoned first was the loser. Which left him either going down after school tomorrow and turning up at Tracy’s door, giving her the opportunity to humiliate him in person by denying him entrance, or booking a room at a hotel. He chose the hotel and went to bed sad but safe. In the dark room, the phone sounded like a fire alarm and Colin, disoriented, struggled to grab it to silence the noise. "Yes!" he barked at the mouthpiece. "Are you coming tomorrow or not?" Tracy asked plaintively. "What?" "Are you staying with me this weekend? You said you would." "I sort of assumed my invitation was revoked," Colin answered dryly. "On account of the discussion we had last Sunday. You suggested I shouldn’t hurry back, if you remember." "I was upset," said Tracy. "I didn’t really mean it." "Pity you didn’t call and let me know," said Colin. "I’d taken it as Gospel. I’ve booked myself into the Holiday Inn." Tracy’s stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a particularly heavy snowball and tears pricked her eyes. "Stay at my place," she said. "I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I can see where you’re coming from. I’m not good at admitting guilt, and I

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do owe you a proper apology…" Colin lay quiet, staring into the darkness, while she spoke. There was an intimacy to this midnight monologue that made it impossible to end brutally, and he felt Tracy had finally asked herself hard questions and come up with answers she didn’t like. Such moments of self-discovery were rare and fleeting for most people, rarer still for the Tracy’s of the world, and it would do them both good to hear her out. "…I’ll be guided by you, in future, so won’t you give me another chance. Please?" Tracy asked, her voice rising with the growing panic she felt at his silence. Was he asleep? Was he so disgusted with her he didn’t want to even reply? In his darkened room, Colin grinned wolfishly. Let her sweat, he thought. She deserves to be punished and that’s what she’s going to get, one way or the other. "Colin? Please say something." "I was thinking," Colin said. "What about?" The tone of Tracy’s voice told him she was genuinely frightened. "About you and me," Colin said, after letting another long silence develop, "and what is to be done." Tracy waited, hardly breathing. This wasn’t her old Colin speaking; this was a new, harder, one, a Colin who wouldn’t stand for her doing as she pleased without reference to his needs. Is that what she wanted? She’d thought the old Colin a ‘modern man’ who allowed his partner her freedom. Then later, she thought him uncaring and she’d abused his trust. If he weren’t that ‘modern man’ in future would she be happier this time? She wished she knew. "Alex is coming over in a few weeks, and I’m going to spend the time with her," Colin said. "Are you sure you want me to stay with you, knowing I’ve already promised at least three future weeks to

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another woman?" "Yes, I want you to stay," Tracy said desperately. "I gave nearly two years to another man and from that I learned you were the one I want. You’ll find the same -- I know it. Don’t give up on us, please." Colin considered his options. He’d spent two notso-wonderful days with Alex, and he had no idea if she was interested in him or just her ‘Quest’. Tracy seemed like she was willing to change but could he trust her to stick with it? Could he ensure she did? Was he cheating on them both and did he really care when he wasn’t promised to either? What would James Bond do? "Okay," he said at last, "I’ll be there about seven."

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Chapter Seven "Alex!" Colin called, waving at her as she stepped uncertainly through the doors out into Heathrow’s main airport Arrivals area. He could tell the crowds milling around the corded-off walkway dismayed her. She looked stunned by the noise. "Good flight?" Colin asked as he took her bags and led her toward the elevators. "Yes, thanks," Alex answered slowly, her mind dulled by jet lag. She wished he’d kissed her like other people were doing to their friends and relatives. At the elevators, it was quieter, the rush hadn’t reached them yet, and Colin put down the cases. He put his arms around her, hugging her to his chest. Alex froze. She hoped he wouldn’t kiss her. After 24 hours on a plane, she felt, dirty, smelly, and her mouth tasted bad even to her. Please God, she thought, don’t let him kiss me or I’ll never see him again. When she turned her face up to his, he kissed her lightly and the stiffness seemed to melt from her limbs and she pressed against him gratefully. The elevator arrived and he pushed her gently inside before following with the bags. "It’s not far to the hotel," Colin said as he loaded the bags into his car. "Then I suggest you freshen up and we go out for a while." "I just want to die," Alex wailed, "or failing that, sleep." Her flight to and from Sydney had done nothing to prepare her for the full horror of intercontinental jet travel. "I know how you feel," said Colin with a laugh, opening the car door and helping her in, "but believe me, it’s best to get into the routine of wherever you are as soon as possible." "And where am I?" Alex asked. "London in the early afternoon," Colin replied, smiling sympathetically at her. It had taken a week before he’d felt right again after his flight. Numbed by fatigue, Alex watched the city slide

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by the windows in silence while Colin pointed out the landmarks he recognized. There weren’t many, his visits to the capital had been to the center and more concerned with adolescent entertainment than sightseeing. She allowed herself to be led into their hotel room. They had decided earlier, by phone, they’d save money by sharing a room. It was Alex’s idea, Colin had suggested separate rooms, but now that she was here, her nerves began to twitch. Colin closed the door behind them and dropped her bags on a bed. He helped her out of her coat while Alex stood like a statue. "I asked for two beds," Colin said, hanging up her coat, "so you don’t feel pressured." Alex nodded sleepily, hardly taking in what he was saying. When he wrapped his arms around her, she laid her head on his chest gratefully. He was the best pillow. "Thanks," she said, "but I know I wouldn’t be pressured. I trust you." His forbearance back in Sydney, when she would have let him do anything to her, had convinced her she wasn’t dealing with one of Gran’s monsters of depravity. The two beds were an added embarrassment. Now, having maneuvered him into one room, she still had to cross that one yard of floor between the beds. She blushed at the thought. This was as bad as asking her Doctor for contraceptive pills and picking them up at Wadeville’s one drugstore. Colin patted her bottom, sending her off toward the bathroom. "Shower," he said, "then we’ll decide what to do for the rest of the day." "I just want to…" Alex began but he was guiding her through the door and had closed it before she could finish. She felt Alexandra bristling inside her at Colin treating her like a child, but the memory recalled by his hand on her behind allowed Alex to keep control. "You need a wash as well," she reminded Alexandra, and undressed. The water revived her and by the time she

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rejoined Colin, wrapped in the hotels thick bathrobe with a towel around her hair, she felt ready for anything. "I want to go straight to Somerset House," Alex said. Colin grinned. "You’ve woken up," he said, "and I can understand your desire to start, but it will be closing by the time we get there." "I don’t care," Alexandra snapped, irritated by his grin and confident belief he knew what was best. "Very well," said Colin. "Get dressed and we’ll go there. It’s too late for any meaningful research today but at least you’ll know where it is. Then we can have a light dinner and an early night." "I’ll decide what I’ll do on my vacation, thank you," Alexandra retorted. She glared at Colin, willing him to respond. When he didn’t, her angry stare began to falter, and she found it hard to continue meeting his calm gaze. When she finally looked away, it was to the floor and, in her mind, the gap between the beds was now enormous. "Sorry," she said. "I guess I’m still a bit tired." Colin rose slowly from the bed where he’d been reading the hotel’s services guide and strode purposefully to where Alex stood trembling in anticipation. Her freshly washed, naked bottom felt horribly vulnerable under the easily lifted robe. "Knowing that," Colin said, holding her face up to his with a finger under her chin, "you will be more careful now in the way you behave, won’t you?" "Yes," said Alex quietly. "Good," Colin said, letting go her chin. "Then get dressed. I’ll wait for you in the lobby." He dismissed her with a pat on the bottom that was still loving but more forceful than the earlier ones had been. Alex padded miserably to her cases. The whole sorry incident reminded her that she’d promised not to behave like this when they’d parted in Sydney only six weeks ago. Her good intentions lasted a little more than an hour and now he was leaving.

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Probably, he was being considerate, letting her dress in private, but it felt like a punishment. She could hardly read the case’s combination lock her eyes were so blurred with tears. "And be quick about it…" she heard him say. She turned and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Colin grinned. "…or I’ll be up here with my belt!" Alex grinned too, as Colin left the room. It was funny how words could mean the opposite of what they said. When he was considerate, she felt punished. When she was threatened with punishment, she felt relieved. Alex turned back to the combination lock. Now she could see the numbers clearly -- but her fingers trembled too much to operate them. The December evening air was frosty, though to Alex’s Australian senses it still felt damp. They stood outside Somerset House, which was closing, as Colin had predicted, and planned their next move. A thin, cold wind fluttered Alex’s hair and nipped her nose and ears. Colin was still urging an early night. "No way," Alex replied. "I feel great now I’m outside." They walked back toward the heart of the city, jostled by the crowds of people hurrying home, heads down against the wintry night. Alex felt she could conquer the world. All around the great city grumbled and roared. The constant vibration from feet and traffic made the earth below her feet seem alive. At the Embankment, Alex stopped and gazed around. "I’ve seen all this before in pictures and movies," she said. "I never really thought I’d actually be here." "Does it look as you expected?" Alex nodded. "It looks like it’s been here forever," she said. "Not like home. Home looks like someone put it up that morning and it could be taken down at night. London looks as if it grew right out of the earth." She watched a riverboat cruise

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by, lit in Christmas colors, and loaded with diners. A reflection of the elegantly lit Houses of Parliament shimmered on the river’s surface as the boat’s wake broke the picture into a galaxy of glittering points of light. "Where are we walking to?" Alex asked. "I booked us into a restaurant near the hotel," Colin said. "We’re just passing the time till our reservation and your batteries run out." "You’re going to be disappointed there," Alex said. "I feel stronger with every step we take. And, the air is so bracing I may never sleep again." "Great," Colin said, with an infuriatingly smug smile, "then let’s keep going." He put his arm around her and she snuggled against him as they walked. "Gran spent her last months in England living in London," Alex said. "It’s where she met George Wade." "Perhaps they walked right here," Colin replied, "and just like this." He kissed her when she looked up at him. "Perhaps," Alex said, when he’d regrettably released her mouth from his, "but in Gran’s case I don’t believe she felt much joy." "Two men loved her, one enough to marry her, and we don’t know about the other," Colin said. "She must have been lovable when she was young and lovable usually means loving." "Men are often misled by their desires," Alex replied sardonically, "but I know what you mean and I still think it incredible. I never saw that in her." "Are you sure they were misled?" "Both men were aristocratic heirs to large estates," said Alex, "and Gran wasn’t born into those circles." "I see you’ve been thinking about this a lot since I called you," Colin said, "but are you sure it isn’t just your own bitterness prejudicing you against her?"

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"Possibly," Alex admitted. "On the other hand, you must admit it is unusual for an ordinary girl to have such good fortune twice. Even now, today, never mind then when people didn’t mix so much." "You’re forgetting the war," Colin said, guiding her into the doorway of an Italian restaurant. "That led to a lot of mixing." "Maybe," Alex conceded as she stepped inside. After the cold street, the room seemed superheated and she felt faint. She handed her coat to the hovering waiter and they were quickly seated. It was still early for London diners. "I didn’t think Australia had ‘aristocrats’," Colin said, when they’d placed their orders. "I remember being told so -- often." "I’m sure you know very well everywhere has aristocrats, they just go by different names. George was heir to the Wade family fortune, as he told Gran, the premier family in Wadeville. The town was named after them." Alex sipped the wine Colin had ordered. She wasn’t used to wine but it seemed pleasant enough and it gave her something to do with her hands. Now they were sitting facing each other, she felt strangely nervous again. "You don’t need to convince me," Colin said. "I’m the one who has to bite his tongue every time he sees or hears the media rail against true aristocrats and then listen and watch them fawning over the present crop of robber barons who make our lives a misery." "That sounds a bit like revolutionary talk," Alex said. "I hope you’re not a socialist." "I’m not," Colin said, "I just wish people didn’t need leaders, but they do. The best you can hope for is that they choose the mildly criminal over the wildly criminal. That’s why I like the old aristocracy over new money. The fire’s gone out of them and they lead gently, if you’ll follow." "Well," said Alex with a tired smile, "when I come into my inheritance, I hope you’ll remember that."

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"Sure," said Colin, rolling his eyes, "I’ll be as subservient as you please, milady." Alex yawned. It was too hot in here, she thought sleepily. "Good," she said. "I’ll be looking for a driver and you seem a steady sort of chap who won’t scratch the Rolls." "In your dreams, milady," Colin replied, wondering if she wasn’t going to be in dreams before their dinner was served. "What are the plans for tomorrow?" He asked loudly to jolt her awake. "I’m going straight to Somerset House," said Alex, "to find Gran’s marriage certificate to Jocelyn de Cheney." "Then I recommend milady has an early night or she’ll never keep her eyes open tomorrow." "Maybe you’re right," Alex said drowsily. "I do seem to have become a little fatigued."

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Chapter Eight "Were you successful in Births and Marriages?" Colin asked, the following afternoon when Alex joined him in Somerset House’s entrance lobby. Her dark look suggested she didn’t think so. "It is as you said," Alex replied. "I found Lord and Lady de Cheney’s marriage certificate and Gran’s to George Wade but not one for Gran to Jocelyn de Cheney. By the way, the only reason I found the one between Gran and George Wade was because she described herself on the marriage license as Adelaide de Cheney, not Fisher. Cheeky, eh? But it makes me wonder if it is legal when it wasn’t her real name." They left the building, huddling together to keep out the wind that swept along the Thames, swirling around London’s wet streets, buffeting them and the seemingly millions of others making their way home at the end of the day. "What about Birth Certificates?" Colin asked. He’d spent the day researching the outer branches of his own family tree, longing to work with Alex but respecting her need to be the detective in this her own story. "I found Gran’s and Jocelyn’s," Alex said. "I already have Mum’s from back home. Her certificate shows Jocelyn as the father but can we believe it? Nobody else will." "More may show up tomorrow when you research the death certificates," Colin said, a little too heartily. "I’m not wasting my time or yours on another day chasing a figment of my Gran’s twis ted imagination," Alex snapped. "Tomorrow we head up to Lancashire. You can show me around and then I’m done." "Don’t be silly," Colin said. "Finish your research here, it’s only another day." "I’m not being silly," Alex replied, "I’m being sensible -- for once."

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"Research takes time," Colin said. "Trust me, I know." "Oh, you know everything," said Alex caustically. "I didn’t say that. I’m just telling you…" "Your experience," finished Alex. "I know. But your ‘experience’ told me it was a hopeless exercise six weeks ago. Which ‘experience’ should I trust, your first answer or this new advice?" She glared at him, daring him to argue further. "It’s your holiday and your Quest," Colin said mildly. "I just think, to be sure, you should research the death certificates and Wills tomorrow." "We know when they died, for God’s Sake," Alex cried, pulling away from him. "It says so in the paper." "We don’t know when Jocelyn died," Colin continued stubbornly. "Well there won’t be a death certificate in Somerset House for him, will there?" Alex almost screamed with frustrated rage. A day spent hunting down wrong families and names, coupled with the disappointment of not finding the crucial marriage certificate, had finished her of historical research forever. "Not if he died in Germany, no," Colin admitted. "So I’m going to Lancashire," Alex said. "You can come or not, please yourself." "Why not spend the day in London, do some sightseeing, go to the theater," Colin continued, "then travel up the next day." He was doing his best to restrain himself, knowing how tired she must still be, but he could feel his temper rising. Alex almost screamed ‘NO’ but stopped in time. "All right," she said when she’d recovered her composure. "I’d like that." "What would you like to see?" Alex considered. "Gran mentioned Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament and other places. I’ll try and remember. We should go to them, follow her footsteps." "Okay," Colin said, "you work on that while we

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have dinner. Then, I recommend another early night. The flight over from Oz takes a lot out of you." "I’m fine," Alex lied. She felt exhausted. "I didn’t know there could be this many shops in a country," Alex said when they stopped for afternoon tea. "I thought Sydney was big, but this is ridiculous." "Well, I vote for an end to sightseeing and shopping and we get tickets for a play," Colin said. Never a keen consumer, he felt his lifetime quota of shopping had been used up in this one afternoon. "What should we see?" Alex asked. She’d never been to a theater and was nervous; having a vague idea it meant dressing beyond her slender means. "For a would-be detective it couldn’t be anything but The Mousetrap," Colin suggested, then seeing her blank look, continued, "it’s a murder-mystery. You can practice your detecting from the safety of a theater seat." "That’s a completely different kind of detecting," Alex protested. "There’s no murder in my mystery." "Who knows what secrets you’ll uncover or where they might lead," said Colin in playful seriousness. "That’s what makes history so fascinating." "If you say so," Alex replied sardonically. "Personally, I think I’ll count myself lucky if I find anyone who knows or cares about anything I say." "I think you’ll be surprised," Colin said. "Here, most people care about history because it’s all around them and there are lots of restless ghosts who want their story told." "I told you I had a knack for detecting," Alex crowed as they strolled back to the hotel after the play. Colin hugged her to him. "Okay, smartie pants," he said, "you’re a genius, but now it’s time to rest your ‘little gray cells’ because we have an early flight up to Manchester in the morning."

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"This is the old entrance to de Cheney Park," Celia Ormiston said as she and Alex rounded the corner into a shallow half-circular wall. Colin had been shooed away to continue his research for local families among the gravestones in the nearby churchyard. Alex stared at it, touched it. Her Gran had stood here that morning talking to the policeman, trying to see round him. But that couldn’t be right. Alex could see the rows of houses beyond the wall yet Gran couldn’t see the House. "This can’t be the same wall," Alex said. She explained the difficulty. "They had to lower the wall and take away the gateposts," Mrs. Ormiston said, "when it became an entranceway to the housing estate. It was too dangerous, car drivers couldn’t see." Alex stepped out into the road to look through the entrance and down the street, which followed the route the old drive must have taken. The road became a T-junction only a hundred yards inside the gate and a mock-Tudor detached house barred her view of anything beyond that. "What would it have looked like in 1944?" Alex asked. "We have some photos in the museum," said Mrs. Ormiston. "We can go there after. Basically, what was here was a small gatehouse with iron gates and gas lamps on each post. Looking through the gate was a fairly short drive -- Cheney House wasn’t a grand affair like Chatsworth or Lyme Park - bordered by oak trees that met overhead, forming a shaded way in summer time. It must have been rather gloomy, I think, particularly as the family had fallen on hard times and most of the outdoor staff were gone by then." Alex touched the wall again. She’d imagined old, weathered stones, moss or lichen covered. This wall was another disappointment. The stones were clean and new. Mrs. Ormiston anticipated Alex’s question.

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"They are the original stones," she said, "and some of the houses you can see also include stones from Cheney House. It’s just they were cleaned when they were rebuilt and cleaned again after the Clean Air Act put an end to coal burning. Apart from diesel exhaust, there’s nothing nowadays to blacken them." Alex walked to the point where the semi-circular wall began and closed her eyes, imagining Gran hurrying along that morning. She’d come from the station, gone now but Alex knew, from Mrs. Ormiston’s directions, that it would be behind where she stood. Gran couldn’t see over the wall, she rounded the corner and met the policeman who stopped her before she could reach the gate. Alex walked forward trying to feel what Gran had felt. For a moment she thought she’d succeeded, then the traffic light on the nearby road changed and everything dissolved in the rumble of wheels and the roar of engines. The sepia-tinted photos in the museum confirmed Mrs. Ormiston’s words. At the turn of the century, in summer time, Cheney House seemed lively enough with tennis parties and croquet on the lawn. By 1944, the house and park had aged considerably, its tennis courts disused and the shrubbery grown wild. Winter photos, in stark, bleak contrasts, looked even worse. Alex closed the cover on the album and thanked Mrs. Ormiston for her time. At least, she thought, now I know. I’ve seen the Church with its family history of marriages and deaths, I’ve seen the remnants of the old house, I’ve followed Gran down the paths I can remember and I’m satisfied. There’s nothing more to be done. "You will remember our next Historical Society meeting, won’t you?" Mrs. Ormiston said, as she locked the door of the small outbuilding that served as the ‘Old Ashton de Cheney’ museum. "I’ll be there," Alex replied, "though I’ve so little to tell."

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"Your Gran’s story, written up, will be a fine addition to our records," Mrs. Ormiston said. "We have two other descriptions, and the newspaper articles, but nothing as close as this." She held her hand out to Alex who took it and, after a brief shake, turned to go. "And if there’s anything else you’d like to see or know, you can phone me after Boxing Day," Mrs. Ormiston said. ‘I’m visiting my sister over Christmas." "Thank you," said Alex, anxious now to return to Colin who she could see studiously examining a gravestone by the Church gate. "It really is a pity Sir Jocelyn is dead," Mrs. Ormiston said. "Nowadays DNA testing could have settled your mind in minutes. The old ways of ‘she said, he said’ aren’t nearly as satisfactory." "You’re right there," Alex agreed. And in this case, she thought grimly, the ‘she said’ method was downright slanderous. They had agreed to talk over dinner, so Colin was forced to wait patiently before hearing what Alex had learned. Finally, when they’d ordered and he couldn’t contain his patience any longer, he asked, "Did you get anything new?" "Nothing positive," Alex said. "Tell me anyway," Colin answered. "Gran didn’t identify the bodies of Sir Thomas and Lady Maud, at least not at the inquest. The doctor did that. In fact, Gran doesn’t appear to have been at the inquest at all." "This doesn’t sound promising," Colin said. "I think it confirms what we already know," Alex said. "Gran was there, her description of the gates to Cheney House is spot on, but not as an important player in the drama. She thought she saw a way to get rich by claiming the de Cheney estate. When the Government took it over, and without any real means of pressing her claim, she abandoned the idea and looked for a rich fool." "Do you think she could do that?"

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"Actually, I think Gran could have done much worse if pushed to it," Alex replied. They ate their first course in uncomfortable silence, Colin unwilling to continue with a subject that was clearly depressing Alex and Alex, toying with her salad, trying to decide if she was really disappointed by the failure of her Quest. "What happened to the Estate?" Colin asked, when their plates were cleared away. "The Historical Society doesn’t do anything past 1945 when the Government was still using the grounds as a storage area for old tanks and things. But Mrs. Ormiston said after the Government left, which was the early Fifties, there was ‘the Trust’ who developed the area. With the death of Sir Jocelyn the Trust passed on to two distant cousins." Colin felt goose bumps spring up everywhere. "Did she say ‘Sir Jocelyn’?" he asked. "Yes, of course. She’s a very correct lady," Alex replied with a chuckle. "I think all the ladies of the Historical Society are in love with Sir Jocelyn. And I don’t blame them. His picture is on the wall and on the desk, one in flying gear, and the other in his dress uniform. He was very handsome." "Never mind that," Colin said in exasperation, "are you’re sure she said ‘Sir’?" "She said it on more than one occasion, why? What’s the significance in that? He would be Sir Jocelyn wouldn’t he? If his Dad was a Sir?" "No," said Colin, "he wouldn’t. Not until he inherited anyway." "But he would inherit the moment Sir Thomas was killed," Alex said. "Only if he was alive." "Well missing-in-action isn’t dead. The ladies are just pretending he’s out there somewhere, hoping this handsome knight will come and sweep them off their feet and save them from the dragon of suburban boredom." "Possibly," Colin agreed slowly, his mind trying to digest this news and how likely it was to be true,

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"but I think it means he came back."

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Chapter Nine "So what if he came back?" Alex asked, as they drove at racetrack speed through the darkened streets. It had taken forever to get served in the busy Christmas Eve restaurant crowd. "It’s the first thing different we’ve heard," Colin said shortly, "and it means there was a Will. I knew we should have looked." "It only proves what a liar Gran was," Alex said. "Jocelyn coming back was probably why she abandoned her scheme to steal the de Cheney estate and what decided her to take George Wade’s offer." "Perhaps," Colin said. "And perhaps he came back much later and she’d already gone." He pulled up outside the address Mrs. Ormiston had given Alex. There wasn’t a light in any window; the house was empty. "I told you," Alex said, after Colin had knocked and rung the bell enough times to convince himself the Ormistons were out. "They’ve gone away for Christmas." "You’re sure they said they’d be back the day after Boxing Day?" asked Colin. "She said she’d be back after Boxing Day. She didn’t say which day." Colin growled in frustration. Finally, they had something to work on, and now they had to wait for confirmation. He couldn’t even follow up with other sources because of the holidays. "Why does everything close at Christmas," he grumbled as they got back in the car. "We’ll lose a week, you watch." He slammed the door. "If everything didn’t close," Alex said, "you’d be at work, so you still wouldn’t have the opportunity." She closed her door gently to emphasize her calmness in the face of his bad temper. "I didn’t mean me," Colin replied. "I meant everyone else should work through the holidays." "Then, it could hardly be called a holiday, could

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it?" Alex continued reasonably. She was rather enjoying her new role as the steady one of the two. "I’m pleased you can take our first real break so calmly," Colin snapped. "It’s not a break," Alex replied, "because the Quest was already broke. If Joss came back and left his estate to two distant cousins, there’s even less in it for me. Anyway, you know I’m right. Gran was in the middle of a scam to get his estate when he came back, and she had to get out fast, which she did. If Joss had been alive and I’d presented myself to him as his long lost Granddaughter, he’d probably have horse-whipped me out of town in true aristocratic fashion." "I think you’re letting your dislike of Gran color your judgment," Colin said. "For all her later faults, she got one heir to marry her so why not two?" "She got a drunk, who didn’t know what kind of a woman he was getting, to marry her," Alex said, "and I doubt Joss came within a hundred miles of the scheming slut. And…" she added meaningfully, "as far as I can see this ‘break’ as you call it is just more of the same. Nothing Gran said has been true." Colin, driving at a steadier pace now that he was only going back to his home, considered before replying. "What we’ve heard, seen and read up to now has been the same story only told from other people’s viewpoints. Your Gran put herself at the center of the story because that’s how she saw it. Nobody else knew she was alive, so she doesn’t appear in their view…" "If she was there, surely she’d have been at the Inquest." "Not necessarily. The doctor could identify the bodies and what other information did she have to give?" "None," replied Alex. "That’s my point. She wouldn’t dare identify herself as Joss’s wife or fiancée then, in case he came back. And, when he

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did, she ran off to Oz." "You don’t know that," Colin said as they entered the house, "you only think that. We have to know when he came back." "If he came back, I think you mean," Alex said. "Right," agreed Colin but his brain ran on examining and discarding ways for getting information over Christmas. He would start in the morning, after they exchanged gifts, with his list of names from the gravestones and the telephone book. Some of the old families must still live in the area, whatever Mrs. Ormiston might think. Colin ate a hurried Christmas breakfast, handed Alex her present, and thanked Alex for her present to him, itching to start work, wishing she’d stop dawdling over her coffee. Throughout the night, ideas had come to him, most completely impractical, and he’d repeatedly cursed his weakness in letting Alex avoid the death certificate search when they were in London. Alex watched him with amusement. He was so excited he was trembling like a cat after a bird, eager to be off. She’d thought, back in Australia, nothing could pierce his urbane calm, and she was smugly pleased to find she was wrong. The merest hint of a historical riddle and he was like a kid with a new toy. Her own interest in her Quest was gone now that its emptiness was revealed, but she didn’t mind. The past days made up for any disappointment. When she remembered how anxious she’d been about being here with him, for example, she almost laughed. It was so easy -- and so good. It was like being married only without sex. Colin was a little too controlled there, she thought wistfully. Petting was nice, but she had a lot of catching up to do. "I’m going to luxuriate in the bath," she said when Colin’s twitchiness suggested he might burst. "Do you want to join me?" She found she was almost purring, her voice sounded so husky. "I just want to check the phone book, see if a

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couple of families are still in the area," Colin said. "You go and get in. I’ll join you in two seconds." Alex kissed him and headed upstairs. She hoped he would join her, she liked having him wash her, but she feared he wouldn’t be up before the water went cold. She sighed sadly. More than being washed, she loved washing him, sliding her hands across his soapy skin, her fingers exploring every crevice. If he didn’t join her, she decided, that would be a bigger disappointment than anything she’d suffered so far. Fortunately for Alex, the one family Colin called who were at home on Christmas Day were too busy to ‘answer stupid effing questions’ from strangers, and he was able to join her quite quickly. Not everyone shared his inquiring spirit, Colin mused while Alex soaped his chest, so perhaps he’d leave it until Celia Ormiston returned. There were other things in life. The wet pavements shone gold, reflecting the overhead sodium lamps, and a thin icy rain soaked through their coats as they walked heads down against the raw December night. "England in winter," Alex said, "is a cold place." The shops were shut and dark now that Boxing Day and its inevitable sales were over, only the pubs spilled welcoming signs of life out into the street from their open doorways. The noise of rock music echoed hollowly from ‘The Dog’ at the crossroads just ahead of them. "It’s the damp," said Colin. "It isn’t actually cold, well above freezing anyway." He glanced up at the sound of an approaching car, puzzled by something about it. The car swept past the small roundabout at the junction, accelerating as it came. That’s what was odd, he realized, it should have been slowing. He stiffened. When it mounted the pavement, Colin leapt aside, dragging Alex with him. He heard a thump, felt Alex jerk in his grip, landed heavily on the ground and rolled them both away from the rear wheel spinning wildly on the slick surface beside his

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face. The car, engine racing, hurtled back onto the road and down the street. Only when it reached the bridge, and the end of the street lamps, did the driver put on its lights. "Are you all right?" Colin asked. They were lying against the wall below a shop window whose fluorescent security lighting cast a pale glow on Alex’s even paler face. "My leg hurts," she said. Colin sat up. Alex’s leg was bare almost to her thigh, the pantyhose ripped from her. Blood oozed from an ugly gash below her knee but there were no unnatural joints -- or bones protruding. "Can you walk?" Colin asked looking about for assistance. The street was empty. It was too early for people to come out of the pubs, too late for shoppers, and too wet for idle strollers. He would have to carry her if she couldn’t. "I think so," Alex said. "Nothing feels broken." Colin helped her to her feet and they stood together, composing themselves, feeling for injuries that weren’t obvious. "That was someone who’d been celebrating a bit too well," Alex said with a forced laugh as they limped away, her arm round Colin’s shoulder. "I think they were trying to kill us," Colin said, aware it sounded melodramatic. "One of your girlfriends’ husbands, you think?" "Very funny," Colin replied. "It would be a good theory if I had a girlfriend who lived around here, and she had a husband. As I don’t, I’ve only been here six months, and I hardly know anyone, it isn’t me they were after." "Well," said Alex, "in case you’d forgotten, I got off a plane 5 days ago, and I don’t know anyone in the whole country except you. So it definitely isn’t me. Let’s face it, it’s Christmas, everyone’s in the pub drinking, it’s dark, foggy and wet, and my explanation is the right one." "I guess," said Colin running through the events in his mind again, this time imagining a drunk

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driver. He, and he thought the shadowy outline of the driver was a man, came out from the pub, got in his car and drove onto the main street where the lights were so bright he didn’t notice he’d forgotten to put on the car’s own lights. Before his befuddled brain had gotten hold of where he was, he was at the junction. Too late to slow or stop, he accelerated to get across before another car came. He fiddled for the radio, a tape or CD, lost his concentration and drifted onto the sidewalk. The thump as he hit Alex galvanized him into sobriety and, when he saw the bodies in his mirror, he drove off at high speed. While he was negotiating the tricky right hand turn at the end of the bridge, he finally noticed he didn’t have his lights on. The sequence of events still made sense, even though it meant the man was a callous bastard -- or just someone scared of being caught mowing down pedestrians while drunk driving. They limped back to Colin’s house, the evening out forgotten. He helped her upstairs to the bathroom and left her to wash the blood and dirt from her cuts while he poured them each a brandy. "What made you think the driver was out to get us?" Alex asked when she rejoined him in the living room. Colin hesitated. "I was just angry," he said. "It was just something you say when an idiot cuts you up. Drink this," he continued, handing her the brandy as he headed for the door, "I have some antiseptic ointment somewhere, let’s get your leg patched up." When he returned, Alex was sitting in an armchair examining her injured leg, which she’d freed from her bathrobe. Despite the battered appearance, it was a shapely limb and her pose was powerfully seductive. "Would you prefer to put this on?" Colin asked offering her the tube. Alex shook her head. "I think you’d be a good doctor," she said with a smile.

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He knelt and dabbed the ointment on the worst grazed parts of her calf, where the bumper had struck obliquely as she fell, before covering it with a gauze pad. He turned his attention to her thigh, which had been scraped raw by the pavement. "There’s up here too," Alex said, shifting sideways on the chair to expose her hip. An angry red circle, which would soon turn blue, surrounded her hipbone; the center of it was oozing blood where the pavement had taken the skin off. Colin dabbed ointment on the exposed flesh, finding it difficult to concentrate on such a small area of her when he knew under the robe was an all too obviously naked body. "You could try kissing it better," Alex said, hoping that wasn’t too childishly obvious a ploy. "We modern doctors are always looking for ways to treat the whole patient," Colin said kissing his way round her thigh and burrowing into the warm junction of thighs and belly. Her initial response was to scrunch up tight and giggle but slowly he felt her relaxing, opening, murmuring, trembling. Gently, he tugged her forward sliding her bottom across the seat and opening her legs till he had more room to work… "Do you go to church?" Alex asked, as they lay entwined under the down-filled quilt in the bright wintry morning sunlight that filled the bedroom. "You must be joking," Colin said then, seeing her shocked expression, added, "We have an Assembly every morning at school with hymns and prayers, which is enough worship for me." "I tried to stop when Mum and Gran died," Alex said, "because it was all part of Gran’s life, not mine. She said we had to set an example to the community, that’s what people ‘like us’ did." "But you found you couldn’t stop?" Colin guessed. "I found I didn’t want to stop," Alex corrected him. "Do you want to go?" Colin asked.

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"I won’t know anyone if you don’t come with me," Alex said. Colin looked deep into her eyes, considering his options, considering the ridiculous discomfort men put themselves through to please women -- first shopping and now an early Sunday church service. "Then we’d best be getting up," he said, adding sternly, "but you are going to shower first. I’m not losing all my day of rest."

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Chapter Ten "Where are you going?" Colin asked, next morning, when he saw Alex putting on her coat. "We need milk and stuff," Alex replied. "You carry on with your work. I need to walk some of the stiffness out of my leg anyhow." "I’ll come with you," Colin said closing the phone book around his notepad. Now that ‘the holiday’ was over and everyone was at home with nothing to do until New Year, he felt he’d have a better response to his questions but he hadn’t yet phoned anyone. His experience on his only ‘successful’ preChristmas call made him nervous. "If you like," Alex said, "but there’s no need. My scrapes and bruises are almost healed, and you need to get going if you’re to be there by ten." The school’s headmaster had called the day before and asked Colin to meet with the renovators who wanted to do something different than promised with the gym. "Just to be on the safe side," Colin said, putting on his jacket. "I’m going with you. Your leg took a hell of a knock and I can still meet the contractor with enough time for them to work today." Let her think he was worried about her walking; then she wouldn’t tease him about being concerned for her safety. Something still bothered him about that car. Their walk to and from the local store was uneventful, but Alex enjoyed his company. Her hurt leg provided the perfect excuse to hold him and be held, not that they needed one now. Now, holding a man was practically second nature, and she marveled at the difference only a few short days could make. She just hoped sex would be as easy when it happened. The contractor was a burly man, red-faced and intimidating. Colin understood why the Headmaster had delegated him to settle the questions arising from the gym’s refurbishment. The discussion wasn’t brief, the man clearly wanted to do less than

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the contract and wasn’t about to give up on a few "No's from a namby-pamby schoolmaster, but it was finally over, and Colin was free to retire to his office away from the noise. He called Tracy’s number and waited while it rang. Just when it was about to flip over to the answering machine, it was picked up. "Hi Tracy," Colin said, "it’s me." "Already? I thought it would take weeks before you realized I was the one." "Stop messing about," Colin said, "I need you to do us a favor." "If it’s for you, I will," Tracy replied. Colin ignored the pointed qualifier and continued, "We didn’t research the de Cheney Wills when we were in London. Would you zip along to Somerset House and find out if a Sir Jocelyn de Cheney left a Will. Failing that, any de Cheney of Ashton de Cheney Wills would do. And I need it today or tomorrow at the latest." "Will it persuade her to go home sooner if I do?" "Her name is Alex, Tracy, as you well know," Colin said, "and I imagine after the battering she had the other night, she’ll be happy to go." "Doesn’t she like rough sex?" Tracy asked innocently. "I do, but you’re always such a wimp." "Tracy, behave yourself…" "Or else what?" "Or else nothing!" Colin growled. "This is serious. Alex was hit by a car." "Nasty," said Tracy. "Is she okay?" "Just bruised and grazed," Colin replied. "She’ll be fine in a day or two." "What’s this got to do with Wills?" "Nothing really. It’s just been nagging me that we didn’t do a proper job." "Okay," said Tracy, "but you owe me." "Thanks, I won’t forget it." "Mrs. Ormiston?" Alex asked when she heard the phone picked up. "It’s Alex -- the Australian." She’d promised Colin she wouldn’t leave the house

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without him, but when Colin left, she couldn’t prevent herself phoning. "Hello, Alex, what can I do for you?" "You’re back," said Alex, "I hope you enjoyed the visit to your sister?" She listened patiently to Mrs. Ormiston’s response, then continued, "I just want to confirm when Sir Jocelyn came back from the war and when he died." Colin would be as jealous as hell when she told him she’d got the answer to the question he’d been fretting over these past days. "Summer 1947," Mrs. Ormiston replied. "He’d been in a prison camp in a part of Germany given to Poland after the war and the Russians wouldn’t let them leave. It was all part of the Cold War nonsense of that time." Alex felt her heart thumping in her chest. Colin could be right, damn him, and she was too hasty in giving up. "And when did he die?" "Poor man, his time in the prison camps, and he said the Russian one was worse than the German one, ruined his health. He died in 1979 but he was chronically ill, broken down really, most of his life after coming home." "So did he recover the estate? I presume the Government or someone must have held it while he was missing?" "He got some back and got some compensation for land that the Government had used for council housing," said Mrs. Ormiston. "You wouldn’t know this but right at the end of the war, the Labor Party won the election and they’d promised millions of houses for the returning soldiers and their young families-to-be. The houses you saw the other day across the road were built on de Cheney land. When Sir Jocelyn got the estate back he was too ill to run it on his own and it was in such poor repair, he set up a Trust to manage the development and at least build better houses if there had to be houses. Those were the ones you saw through the gates."

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"I wish I’d realized this when we were talking," said Alex, uncomfortably aware that once again she’d made life difficult for herself by keeping Colin out of the Quest. He would have asked the right questions. "I wish I’d known you were interested in what happened later," Mrs. Ormiston said. "We have some pictures and newspaper clippings from the Fifties and Sixties. I assumed you were interested only in your Gran’s part of the story." "I’d like to see them," Alex said, hoping Mrs. Ormiston would offer to show her now before Colin returned. She felt sure he’d demand to be more active in her research or, worse, make some cutting remark about amateurs. "I could meet you at the museum this afternoon, if you’d like." "Thank you, I would like," said Alex. "What time can you be there?" Alex was almost out of the door when the phone rang. She stopped. Was it Colin calling her? She’d have to lie about not leaving the house without him guarding her. She waited until she heard the answering machine click in and then quietly picked up the receiver. It was Colin. He was staying to keep the contractor honest and wouldn’t be home until late afternoon. Alex replaced the handset and closed the front door behind her. Provided I’m home by mid-afternoon, she thought with a grin, my bottom is safe. "So," said Alex holding up a 1979-newspaper cutting, "Two cousins inherited the Trust." "Yes," said Mrs. Ormiston, "though I hear they never really have anything to do with it. Lawyers run it and the twins get the profits." "It says here one of the twins was a rock star in London." "Matthew, yes, but that was a long time ago. He moved back up here when the band faded away. These days, he lives in the Ribble Valley quite near his brother. Every once in a while our local paper

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reports he and/or his kids still live a pretty wild life." "I should be getting back," said Alex glancing out of the window at the darkening sky. "I didn’t realize it was so late." "You aren’t used to our short winter days," said Mrs. Ormiston. "It’s only three o’ clock but you need to be heading back or you’ll have a long wait for a bus. The evening bus service is practically nonexistent." "Can I use the phone?" Alex asked. "Maybe Colin could pick me up, if he’s home." Now it was growing dark and she wasn’t sure of the buses, Alex felt uneasy. What had been a naughty jaunt this morning seemed inexcusably risky now. Even the inevitable lecture and a possible sore bottom were a reasonable price to pay for a safe journey home. There was no answer, so she left a message on the machine telling him she was on her way. If she got home first, she could always erase it. That thought made her feel guilty. Colin was her friend and she was deceiving him. Not just on the spur of the moment deception -- pre-meditated, planned deceit. She thanked the librarian for her continued help and hurried out into the evening, anxious to catch the earliest bus. "Hi, it’s me," Tracy said when Colin picked up the phone. The workers were cleaning up, the belligerent foreman was shooting him looks of pure hate, and Colin was sick of this interminable day. "Hi, you," Colin said, recovering his poise. "Did you find anything?" "Course I did," Tracy replied. "I’m not an amateur like you’ve obviously become." "Very funny," said Colin. "Now tell me." "Only if you ask nicely." "All right, but you’re pushing your luck. Please tell me what you learned about Jocelyn de Cheney’s Will." "Okay, but you won’t like it. There’s no money in it for your friend. The estate is managed as a Trust and the Trust is left to the ‘De Cheney Fund for

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Unmarried Mothers’ after two cousins die. While they are alive, the income from the Trust is split three ways, the cousins and the Unmarried Mothers." "They really had a thing about unmarried mothers, didn’t they?" said Colin. "Seems like it," Tracy replied. "Maybe it was a big thing then, all those Yankee soldiers with nothing to do till D-Day, but in this day and age it’s weird. Nowadays, it’s almost mandatory to be unmarried if you’re a mother. They think it’s better to get welfare from all men than rely on just one." "Perhaps it’s just as well unmarried women want kids because the married ones don’t," Colin said sarcastically. "Haven’t you finished punishing me for my mistake?" Tracy said. "I’m trying to make it up to you, and I’m ready to go forward any time. All we need is for you to get my punishment over with." Colin hesitated. Should he tell her how well he and Alex were getting along? Would it be a kindness to warn her or a cruel twist of the knife? He decided against. After all, even though his fears about Alex’s behavior were totally wrong, she’d been as sensible and serious as he could wish, but that didn’t mean she was in love with him. In fact, it could mean the opposite; she didn’t care enough to get mad. "I’ve got to go, Tracy," he said at last. "Thanks for helping out. You’ve set my mind at rest." "Glad to be of service," Tracy said, then, reluctant to hang up, added, "Call me soon." "I will," Colin said as positively as he could. The bus stop was busy with women boasting of the bargains they’d gained in Boxing Day Sales and commuters returning from work. Alex watched them all, imagining their lives, reveling in their gruff accents, so different from the Australian highpitched Strine, the growing misty darkness, the damp stones shining in the street lamps, and all the things Wadeville, Australia, didn’t have. The bus, when it finally picked them up,

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meandered through back roads, stopping frequently, emptying as the city receded behind it and the towns shrank to villages. Sitting at the back, Alex couldn’t hear the driver muttering curses at the dark-colored car that either followed too close or dawdled under the bus’s nose all the way from Ashton to Whalley. By the time the bus reached Alex’s stop, there was only Alex and two other women on it. Alex hoped the other women would be getting off too because even the short walk from the bus station to Colin’s house seemed risky now the daylight was gone. She was disappointed when they didn’t. Alex looked up and down the street. The same street she’d been run down on only two nights before. Commuter traffic rushed steadily both ways. Whalley was a quiet village for England but a pedestrian nightmare to someone used only to Wadeville. Alex limped hurriedly across the street when a gap appeared in the cars, conscious of her aching leg. It seemed much worse tonight, and the butterflies in her stomach added to her discomfort. She wished now she’d waited for Colin and promised herself she’d listen to the lecture she would get with her present feelings remembered. The village, empty of people, with its tall Victorian homes lowering sinisterly over her, seemed to hold its breath as Alex began walking up the street, leaving behind the lights and roaring traffic, entering the quieter part where Colin lived. The lane was so quiet she heard immediately the footsteps behind her. Forcing herself not to look round or increase her pace, Alex walked on. She’d lose him when she turned into Green Lane, the short path that joined Colin’s street to the one she was on. The man followed her into the lane, his pace matching hers, neither gaining nor falling behind. Alex began to tremble, her heart pounded in her chest, and she found it hard to breathe. His footsteps echoed in her mind. It was like every murder mystery movie she’d ever seen, the mist,

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the darkness, and the narrow lane with its thick hawthorn hedge barring any escape. Alex was quickening her pace when she saw Colin appear at the end of the lane. She opened her mouth to call out, then her head snapped forward and she was falling down with a blinding headache into a deeper darkness. "HEY!" Colin yelled as he ran toward Alex and the shadowy figure that had suddenly pounced and struck her. The man, startled by Colin’s cry, grabbed at Alex’s purse, but it was caught under her shoulder. Foiled by her deadweight on the leather strap, he turned and fled back toward the main street. Colin skidded to a halt beside Alex’s lifeless form. He knelt beside her. He checked her pulse, steady, checked for signs of bleeding, found none, and breathed a sigh of relief. Looking down the lane, he saw a figure, silhouetted by the main street’s lights, watching him. "Get help," he called, "Police and ambulance." The figure moved off without a word and they were alone again. He placed his coat over Alex, not daring to move her and unable to leave in case her attacker returned. Cars passed each end of the lane but no one came. Colin grew desperate. Alex was growing colder as the mist turned to drizzle and she still wouldn’t respond to his voice or gentle touches. A group of girls, chattering loudly, entered the lane. They stopped when they saw Colin and Alex’s inert body. "Get help," Colin called. "We need the Police and an ambulance." The girls huddled together, whispering. Then two went back out of the lane and two approached Colin warily. "What’s the matter with her?" one asked. "She’s been attacked and hit on the head," Colin said. The girls stayed out of his reach, watching him for signs of latent violence, till a police car entered

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the lane and illuminated the scene with its headlights. The Police were as suspicious as the girls had been, and Colin had to travel in the police car to the hospital, where they watched carefully while he paced back and forth in the corridor. The coincidence of his arrival in the lane at exactly the moment Alex was attacked sounded lame to Colin and he wasn’t surprised the Police thought so too. Their questions were politely incredulous when he persisted in saying it was the truth. Alex recovered consciousness slowly, and was allowed to speak to the Police an hour or so after she arrived at the hospital. To Colin’s relief, she remembered the events leading up to her attack. The Police were satisfied and allowed Colin to visit her, but the doctor was less easy to satisfy, and Alex was kept in overnight for observation. Colin went home alone, despondent. His fears for Alex’s safety, so unlikely seeming after Tracy’s phone call, now appeared justified, though he couldn’t understand what was going on. He was dozing in front of the late night TV when the phone rang. He jumped to answer it, imagining the worst. "Yes?" he asked anxiously. "I know I said I would wait for you to call," Tracy began, "but I needed to hear your voice. Is this a bad time?" "Bloody right it is," Colin snapped, his relief it wasn’t bad news from the hospital overwhelmed by annoyance at the fright he’d received. "Sorry," Tracy said. "I was lonely. Pathetic isn’t it?" "I thought you were at your parents?" Colin said. That’s where he’d spoken to her only a few hours ago. "I was till I couldn’t stand it any more and came home." "You should have stayed," Colin said unsympathetically. "At least you’d have company."

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"Is she there?" asked Tracy. Colin was about to tell her about the attack, then stopped. It wasn’t Tracy’s business. "Not tonight," he said, "so we can talk if you want." "Don’t you want to?" "Tracy," Colin said calmly, "forget you’re a girl for the purposes of this call. You called me. I said I was free to talk. I don’t want to dissect the precise words of my reply, the tone of my voice, the inflection on my syllables, the nuances of grammar and syntax, or any other minute blemish you wish to pick at." He finished on a rising note he recognized as an unusual irritation when dealing with Tracy and her foibles. "Have you broken off with her?" "Tracy, I’m warning you," Colin said. "If I was there, you’d have your legs slapped now. Any more of this and I’ll hang up." "Sorry," said Tracy quickly, afraid he’d leave her adrift. "I love you so much I clutch at any little straw to keep my hopes afloat." Colin heard her declaration out, with a silent groan. Tracy was growing more desperate, she hadn’t mentioned ‘love’ before. The consequences of his innocent dalliance, or so it seemed only a few short weeks ago, were turning darker by the day. One or both of the girls was going to get hurt, or would it just be him?

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Chapter Eleven Apart from a headache, and a very un-Australian paleness, Alex seemed unharmed when Colin picked her up at the hospital next day. "You look fine," Colin reassured her when she asked him for his opinion. "England’s an exciting place," Alex said, getting into the car. "I’ve never had so many serious incidents in one week." "It seems odd, doesn’t it," Colin said, "but it can’t be anything to do with your quest because…" "I know," Alex interjected, "the estate was left to two cousins." "Is that why you were out alone?" Alex blushed and hung her head. In her haste to show how clever she was, she’d brought them straight to a place that she’d like to have reached later when she was stronger. "Luckily for you, young lady," Colin said sternly, "my fears were groundless or you and I would be discussing yesterday’s jaunt more seriously when we got home." Alex grinned weakly at him, not sure she liked this reprieve. "So, I’m allowed out of the house on my own now, am I?" she asked. "I guess -- but I’d still prefer it if you let me go with you. With your banged-up leg and head, you might be glad of my assistance." "To be honest," Alex said, "the coincidence of these two events has made me a bit scared. I know it can’t have anything to do with the Will, but something strange seems to be going on. I’d be pleased to have you as my escort for the next while." Colin parked in the garage and assisted Alex from the car. Outside the garage, winter was determined to be noticed; a blustery wind sent wet snow swirling along the street. Inside the garage, Colin and Alex were locked in a kiss that kept them

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oblivious. "Let’s go," Colin said, stroking her hair away from her face. Alex nodded. It wasn’t necessary to ask where they were going. It was time. "That wasn’t very good, was it?" Alex asked. She was frightened by his distant expression as he lay staring at the ceiling. Colin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. She was stiff and awkward, as she had been throughout. The easy companionship they’d established over the past days had evaporated, disappearing quickly with each layer of her clothes he’d removed. "It was fine," he said kissing her nose. "First times are always tricky. Next time will be much better, you’ll see." "It wasn’t your first time," Alexandra cried, stung by his ready agreement when she was expecting re-assurance. "So you know where to send your complaints," she added, pushing him away. "I don’t have any complaints, Alex," Colin said evenly, reaching out to her but finding it made her back away even farther. He’d imagined when they passed this last stage Alex and he would be closer and perhaps, when she’d had time to settle, they would be. At present, it seemed unlikely. She was working herself up into another one of her ‘Mr. Hyde’ moods. "That isn’t what I heard," Alexandra snapped back at him. She swung her legs off the bed and stalked back to her own room, clothes in hand, without a backward glance. Colin stared at the ceiling wondering if it was too late to join a monastery. Too often, the brief pleasure of sex didn’t outweigh the drawbacks, and lately, he felt the drawbacks were crushing him between them. At a hastily convened meeting of the Historical Society on the following afternoon, Alex related her Gran’s story while the ladies took notes, asked

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questions and taped the whole session. Alex was nervous. Now that she knew Gran’s story was a lie almost from beginning to end, she found it a hard story to tell. Some of the questions didn’t help. "Your Gran claimed she was Sir Jocelyn’s fiancée?" "Yes, but I don’t believe that was true now," replied Alex, a little defensively. She hadn’t told them Gran had assumed the even more elevated title of ‘widow’ on her marriage license to George Wade. "Sir Jocelyn never mentioned her during his visits here, you know." "Then, I’m even surer she was making that part of the story up." "She wasn’t a local girl? We might be able to learn something about her if you knew where she was from?" "No, she wasn’t local. I’m not sure where she was from. She never mentioned anything except her part in this story." "Didn’t you think that odd?" "I was just a child, so I didn’t think much about it. It was just there -- Gran’s story. Did you question your Grandparents about their lives?" "Actually, most of us did. We’re interested in that sort of thing." "Well, I wasn’t," Alex replied stubbornly. She felt she was being grilled by a host of hostile lawyers in a trial for her life. "Had your Gran visited the house before? Did she say anything about her time with Sir Jocelyn that we could follow up on? Maybe that way we could help you find answers?" Alexandra bristled with rage. Now they wanted to muscle in on her Quest. What is it with these people, she thought angrily, don’t they have any sensitivity at all? My family, my Quest, my investigation, and that’s the way it’s staying. "Nothing that I can recall," Alexandra replied coldly, "but thank you for the offer." An offer that

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was just intended to uphold the purity of Sir Jocelyn and make my Gran out a liar, she thought angrily. It was one thing to know you were descended from a scheming slut, having someone else prove it publicly was a step too far. She met Colin in the coffee shop nearby as arranged, still inwardly fuming. The overcast sky and thin cold drizzle echoed her mood on a grander scale. She’d had it up to here with nosy Brits, cold wet weather, and overbearing boyfriends. "How did it go?" Colin asked. "Fine," Alexandra snapped back. Colin looked at her, puzzled. She’d gone to the meeting nervous but in good spirits, recovered even from their sad quarrel of yesterday, now she was angry. "What went wrong?" "Nothing." "Something has upset you," Colin persisted. "It’s nothing to do with you," Alexandra replied. Bloody Poms, she thought savagely, always poking their noses in where they aren’t asked, always so sure they can solve your problems better than you can. "I thought I was your helper here," Colin said. "Well, you’re not any more," Alexandra said, her voice rising as fast as she rose from her seat. "Not you, not them, not anybody. It’s my family, and I’ll sort it out for myself." She stalked out of the café, slamming the door behind her. Red-faced, Colin waited for the bill to arrive, trying not to meet the accusing stares of the women at the surrounding tables. Alex wasn’t at the car when he arrived there so he settled down to wait. Most people were still on holiday and trying to find her in the crowded street filled with traffic and bargain-hunters, and in the failing winter light, would be impossible. An hour slipped by and she still hadn’t appeared. Had she taken a bus home? Should he go home and wait? Indecision immobilized him. Why hadn’t he

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chased after her instead of ‘giving her time to cool off’? Another thirty minutes dragged by, and Colin gave up. He started the engine and drove slowly down the street, looking into doorways or other hiding places as he went in case she was watching from them. She wasn’t, nor was she at home when he reached there. By the time he’d prepared the evening meal and she still hadn’t returned or called, Colin was growing worried. First the car, then the mugging, now this… disappearance, if that’s what it was. "It better be abduction," he muttered to himself angrily when the clock struck seven and Alex was still missing. "If she’s just doing this to frighten me, she won’t sit for a week." Alexandra paced the floor of her hotel room, her mind seething with indignation. She had to call him, she needed her clothes and case, but what would she say? She had to be calm. She had to get calm, or she’d sound stupid. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. It didn’t help. The pain in her heart was stronger than anything she could inflict with her nails. The irony of her situation made her laugh out loud bitterly. She’d longed to be in love and now, when it happened, it was to a cold, supercilious, manipulating, over-controlled, insensitive, thoughtless… She couldn’t finish; Colin’s faults were too many to list. She flung herself on the bed, buried her face in a pillow, and wept. "I’d like to speak to Mrs. Ormiston, please," Colin asked the man who answered the phone. "It’s Colin Redesdale." He tapped his foot nervously against the coffee table leg as he waited. "Yes, Mr. Redesdale, what is it?" "What happened this afternoon with Alex at the Historical Society?" Colin demanded, his nerves making it impossible to indulge in the usual small talk. "Nothing happened," Mrs. Ormiston replied, puzzled. "Why?"

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"She met me in a foul mood and, after yelling at me, stormed off, and I haven’t seen her since. I’m getting worried." "Well, I don’t think it was anything to do with us, Mr. Redesdale," Mrs. Ormiston said primly. "She was perfectly rational when she left. I could tell it had been a strain for her, answering a lot of questions, everyone is so eager to help, but I assure you she was not upset when we finished." Alex picked up the phone and dialed Colin’s number. She had a grip on herself and knew what to say and how to say it. "Hello, Colin," she said when she heard him answer. "Where are you?" Colin demanded. "I’ve taken a hotel room for the night and tomorrow I’m returning to London to finish my vacation. I need my case and things," Alex said as evenly as she could. "I don’t understand; what’s happened, Alex?" "Nothing’s happened," Alex replied calmly. "I’ve just decided to call it quits and go home." "Why? What happened?" "I don’t want to talk about it," Alex said. "I just want my things." "Look, if this is about yesterday, I'm sorry," Colin said. "I know it wasn’t great but believe me it will get better. We were both too nervous." "Are you going to bring my things, or do I have to call the police?" Alex said coldly. "Of course, I’ll bring your things," Colin replied. "I just want to talk to you, to understand, that’s all." "I’m not interested in your understanding," Alex replied brutally, for she hardly understood herself, "I just have to leave. Bring my case to the Crest Hotel in Blackburn and leave it at the desk." "Very well," Colin said. "I’ll be there in an hour. Can we have a drink together?" "NO!" Alex cried. "I never want to see you again." She slammed the phone back on its stand

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and buried her face in her hands, trembling uncontrollably. This must never happen again, she vowed, I can’t get close to people because I’m not made that way. I’m another one of Gran’s unsuccessful schemes. Was it so bad for her, Colin thought guiltily? Should I have stopped when I realized she wasn’t going to relax? He followed the sequence of their one hopeless effort at lovemaking again in his mind. He could pinpoint exactly the moment he should have stopped. The moment he felt her freeze, her limbs stiffen, her sudden silence, he should have walked away right there. Only, it seemed to him, stopping would have been worse. She’d have been offended, insulted at his rejection. He’d thought it was a momentary hesitation, like taking a deep breath before diving into deep water, which would soon be forgotten in the ensuing bliss. Only the bliss didn’t happen, for either of them. From now on, he promised himself, I’ll only have sex with girls who like sex. Someone like Alex was too much responsibility. He packed her case, being very careful not to miss anything. If she felt the way she sounded, he couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. He drove to the hotel and left it at the desk, hoping she’d relented and was there to meet him. She wasn’t, and he drove sadly home.

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Chapter Twelve The train to London took forever, but Alex didn’t mind. Compared to her flight from Oz and the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, it was restful; a relief that even the speculative glances of the soldiers drinking steadily in the far corner of the carriage couldn’t spoil. She ignored them with practiced ease. Ignoring men was her chief talent, and now she knew why. It was nature’s way of protecting her from something she couldn’t handle. She had her memories, holding each other, petting, observing him so closely, and with such a feeling of oneness, it seemed she could never be a single individual again, but she’d learned. She’d learned Gran’s song was true. She’d had the ‘joy that was just a moment long’ and she could look forward only to the ‘pain that lasts the whole life through’. She leaned her brow against the cold damp carriage window and shivered. How could Gran have lived another sixty years with such a pain in her heart? Oh, Gran, she thought, I’m sorry. I never knew, never imagined it could be like this. London was cold and gray, overcast with a blustery wind that numbed her cheeks and fingers as she walked to her hotel. She wished it would do the same for her heart and head, where pain and torment ruled the day and seemed about to bring on a fever. At Reception, she was given her room key and reminded that tonight was New Years Eve and the main floor and restaurant would be given over to ticket-only parties. Alex nodded; relieved she would have one whole night where she could avoid the human race. She unpacked in her small room overlooking the back of the hotel, then lay on her bed and slept. When she woke, it was almost two o’ clock on a dark afternoon and her first thought was to put on TV and vegetate, but her family’s stern teachings about sloth and self-pity soon asserted themselves. If she were to be forced to stay in her room all

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evening, she would go out now and see the last hours of the old year in London. The thought didn’t thrill her, like just saying the name had only a week ago. Colin picked up the phone and punched in Geoff’s number. He heard it ringing and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard it flip over to the answering machine. "Hi Geoff, it’s Colin. We’re not going to be able to come to the party tonight. Something’s come up. Alex has gone home early, and I’ve come down with a twenty-four hour flu or something. Sorry about that. We’ll get together for the next Rovers’ home game. Bye." He put the phone down and stared out of the window where a brief snow flurry was turning the garden white. I was wrong the other day, he thought, the story is ending unhappily for all three of us because now I’m sure I want Alex, not Tracy, and Alex doesn’t want me. "Colin," Alex whispered, "is that you?" "Of course it’s me," Colin replied. "Who else would it be? Where are you? Why are you whispering?" "I’m in London, and I’m whispering because I’m frightened," Alex said. "You said, if I needed someone, I was to call. I need help. I’m being followed." Colin glanced at his watch. Would there be a night flight to London or would he have to get the first businessman’s shuttle out in the morning? "Why do you think you’re being followed?" "This afternoon, I was walking along Oxford Street, window shopping, when there was a loud bang behind me. I looked back, well everyone did, but it was just a car accident, and I saw a man I’ve seen around Whalley." "Are you sure? It wasn’t just someone who looked like someone?" "I’m sure -- and he knows I recognized him. Our eyes met and he looked quickly away but he saw. I

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know he knows. Colin, I’m really frightened." "Call the police," Colin said. "What can I say? I saw someone in London I saw a few days ago in Whalley?" "If you tell them about the accident and the mugging, they’ll understand." "Those things happen all the time; they’ll think I’m hysterical." "They aren’t allowed to think women are ‘hysterical’ anymore. Call them." "You call them, if you think it will help," Alex said. "I will. In the meantime," Colin said, "you phone the hotel front desk and get them to keep a close watch on your room. I’ll try and get a flight tonight, failing that I’ll be there in the morning." "Thank you," Alex said gratefully, though a tremor of frightened anticipation prickled her bottom at the thought of the ‘discussion’ they might have after her fears had finally been laid to rest. "Phone me here as soon as you know." She gave him her number and hung up. She’d locked the door and put on the security chain but, looking at it again, it seemed pitifully inadequate. Any man could burst the door open. After wedging a chair under the door handle, Alex took Colin’s advice and alerted the front desk. The next flight wasn’t till six the following morning, so Colin decided to get police assistance. He called the detective who’d interviewed him after the mugging and found the man still at work. "I can’t do anything from here, Mr. Redesdale," the detective said in answer to Colin’s request. "At least find out which police station covers that area of central London and have someone watch her tonight? I can’t be there till tomorrow morning." "I’ll warn them there may be a problem, but we don’t have spare people to guard possible victims." Colin bit his lip in frustration. "All right," he said, "do that. Have someone call Alex at this number," he read it out. Unsatisfactory though it was, it was

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better than nothing. After the airport and the police, he called Tracy. There was no answer. He left a message and went to pack. As he was going to bed, Tracy called back and his frustration was at boiling point. "Are you sure you read that Will properly?" he demanded the moment Tracy started speaking. "What?" she answered. "The de Cheney Will. Did you read it properly?" "Of course I did. Why?" "Because Alex was knocked down by a car, then mugged," Colin replied coldly, "and now she’s being followed. There must be a connection!" "People are knocked down or mugged every day," Tracy said. "How many people do you know who have had either happen to them?" Colin demanded. "I don’t know one! And I certainly don’t know of anyone but Alex who has had both happen!" "Well…" Tracy began, his anger making her wary, "I was almost knocked down once." "Everybody is ‘almost knocked down once’ but hardly anyone is, that’s my point," said Colin savagely. "Now, is there something I should know about that Will?" Tracy’s heart thumped in her chest. She hated hearing how frightened and upset he was about ‘that woman’ and if she told him the truth he’d be angry, really angry, and her hopes of a permanent reconciliation would be destroyed. "You never told me about a mugging," she began, playing for time. "But the accident was more than a week ago, surely there’s no connection? As for being followed, how can she be sure? It’s dark winter nights and she’s a visitor, We must all look the same to her." "You can rationalize all you want, Tracy," Colin said. "Too much has happened in too short a time for this to be chance. And if Alex says there’s a man following her and she’s scared stiff, then I believe

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her. So stop fannying about and answer me. Is there anything in that Will I should know about?" Too much had happened to Alex for Tracy to keep silent now. She had to tell him the truth. Would a spanking, embarrassing though that would be, be enough to settle the question? She thought not. This was a ‘never-speaking-to-you-again’ kind of offense, and she wished with all her heart that she’d never been tempted to lie. "I only wanted her to go home on time, not hang around longer than she needed to…," Tracy began. "So?" Colin asked in a tone of voice that sent shivers down Tracy’s spine. "The Trust was to go to a ‘child born to Adelaide Fisher between June and August 1945 or to the child’s children’. The proceeds go to the cousins and the Unmarried Mothers charity only if, or until, the child is found." "You realize you’ve put Alex’s life at risk by not telling us this?" "I didn’t know that!" Tracy cried. "You knew about the hit and run." "You never told me about a mugging," Tracy retorted. "Tonight is the first I’ve heard about that or her being followed. When you asked me to look into the Will, you said you just wanted to cover all the research. How was I to know someone was trying to kill her?" "Okay, okay," Colin said, "but you still shouldn’t have done it. What if Alex had gone home without finding this out?" "Is she going?" Tracy asked, latching on to the only part of this that meant anything to her. "Nice try," Colin said. "I don’t know. Maybe I will know tomorrow when I see her." "When she hears about the Will, she’ll stay," said Tracy gloomily.

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Chapter Thirteen Alex peered through the spy-hole in the door. Her heart leapt with relief when she saw Colin’s lean face staring back at her. She opened the door and hugged him inside. "Thank God, you’ve come," she said, looking up at him hoping for a kiss that never came. He was always too correct, she thought irritably. She reached up and kissed him instead. "Nothing happened through the night?" Colin asked when they broke apart. "No, nothing," Alex replied ruefully, "particularly not sleep." Colin grinned. "Serves you right," he said. "I told you to stay with me and not get out of my sight." "Sorry," Alex said meekly. "I’m having my teen rebellion late." "Well I’m not your parents," said Colin. "No but you are a new, for me anyway, authority figure," Alex said, scanning his expression for signs of understanding. "When Mum and Gran were gone, I swore I’d never again take notice of anyone’s wishes but my own. Then you came along." Colin hugged her tightly. "It won’t be so bad, you know," he said. "I’m a very easy-going authority figure." Alex smiled. "Perhaps you shouldn’t be," she said. "Look where it’s got me." "We need to talk about that," Colin said, unclasping her from his arms and taking her hand. "I thought we might," said Alex quietly as they walked toward the bed. Colin sat on the edge and drew her to his side. He took both of her hands in his and began, "What has the past two days been about?" Alex examined his lap while she struggled to formulate an answer. She wished he’d just get on with it. She smiled inwardly. This was where they’d come in, him attempting to get her to answer for

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her behavior and her unable to think of anything but how nice it would feel to lie over his lap. "Well?" Colin said when the silence had gone on too long. "I can’t explain," Alex said. "Except to say, I felt you were all, you and the Historical Society, taking over my life and my Quest, and I got scared. I’m not used to so much kindness." "You don’t think you might have over-reacted a little," Colin asked, letting go of a hand so he could lift her chin and look her in the eye. "Perhaps I did a little," Alex said ruefully. "Okay, a lot," she added seeing his expression of disbelief. "I’m sorry." Colin nodded. "Pants down," he said, tapping her hand to emphasize his point. Alex gulped and, with shaking hands, undid her jeans and slid them over her hips. They fell to a bundle at her pressed together knees. "Do you remember what I said in Sydney?" Colin asked, placing his right hand on the back of her bare thigh. "Yes," squeaked Alex, her heart thumping in anticipation. "You did well for a time," Colin continued, "then fell apart." Alex nodded, unable to speak. "Panties down," Colin said. Alex slid her tiny briefs over hips and down her thighs, stopping only for Colin to move his hand. When her panties were lying on her jeans, Alex straightened up and placed her hands demurely over her glossy bush. "I hope over the past two days you’ve thought about how you behaved?" Colin asked. Alex nodded. "I’m afraid you’ll have to speak louder than that," Colin said. "Yes, I have," Alex whispered. "And what did you decide?" "I decided I behaved stupidly," Alex admitted. "I

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was glad to have a reason to phone you." "There really was a man, wasn’t there?" Colin asked. "I’m going to be really angry if I find you made it up and I told the police to look out for you." "I didn’t make it up." "Then describe him." "Now?" cried Alex. "What’s wrong with now?" "I’m standing here half-naked is what is wrong with now," said Alex indignantly "They used to say that knowing you were to be executed next day, clarified the mind," Colin said. "Maybe this will help you the same way." He ran his hand up the back of her thigh and patted her bottom ominously. It was strange, he thought, how well they were able to deal with this side of their relationship and how badly with the other, more conventional, side. "Now tell me what this man looked like." Alex rubbed her knees together, pressed her palms into the hinge of her thighs more forcefully, and said, "I hate you, Colin Redesdale! You’re a sadistic brute!" Colin frowned. "All right," Alex said, "Let me think." "You’ve had all night to think," Colin said, running his fingertips over her buttocks, feeling the goose bumps that covered her soft skin. "H-he is sh-shorter than you," Alex stammered. His fingers were driving her insides wild, making it hard to speak. She made a great effort to compose herself, then continued, "His hair is black, graying at the temples, and he has a ponytail. He wears a jacket and white shirt but m-modern," Colin’s fingers brushing a particularly sensitive spot unsettled her tongue again, "n-no collar or tie. Oh, he wore jeans and leather shoes, not trainers." "Better," said Colin, "but what does he look like? Trust a woman to describe his clothes, what about his face, posture, type? We need to have this straight. He can change his clothes."

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Alex, who didn’t see herself as a clothesconscious woman, was inclined to be upset at his sarcasm but felt she was in enough trouble and decided to save her righteous indignation for a more propitious occasion. "He’s good-looking in a severe kind of way," she continued. "He’s well-off, slim, fit, dark eyes and eyebrows, tanned face." She stopped, unable to summon the man’s image to her mind through the red mist of lust and longing that Colin’s still wandering fingers were provoking. "That’s it?" Colin demanded. Alex nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak because the only words she wanted to say were, ‘Please, let me get over your knee NOW,’ and she couldn’t say that. "Very well," Colin said, patting his lap with one hand and Alex’s bottom with the other, "let’s discuss your behavior this past few days." Alex slid gratefully across his lap and grabbed the bedcovers with both hands. She looked back to watch the ominous preparations going on around her poor, bare behind. His adjustment of her legs, him wrapping his arm around her waist and under her hip, cutting off her view of her nakedness and tugging her gently further up his thighs, hard against his stomach. She watched his hand rise and fall, felt the firm pat-pat of his palm wobbling her cheeks, and saw the stern, wonderful, expression on his face. "You promised to behave when you visited," said Colin, catching her eye, "and you did very well. Unfortunately, the past few days have let you down." Alex gave him what she hoped was a brave smile and said, "I promised I’d try to behave and I did try." "So what went wrong?" Colin asked as he stroked her rounded curves with his hand. "I told you. You were all crowding me," Alex said. "I felt trapped with you on one side and the

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historical ladies on the other. Sorry, it was silly. I should have given myself a slap." Colin grinned. "You don’t have to slap yourself," he said. "I’m more than happy to do that for you." "I noticed," Alex replied dryly, wishing he’d stop talking and get on with it. How would he like to hold a conversation in such an embarrassing position, she thought indignantly? "Then, in future, I expect you to talk to me," Colin continued, his fingers gently pressing and pulling at her flesh, "and let me deal with the problems that are getting beyond you." Alex’s heart leapt in her breast. His words said she hadn’t lost him as she’d feared -- and come to believe -- when her anger ran out. "I will," she said simply. His wandering hands were driving her insides wild and she wished more than ever he’d spank her so she and he could… "Good," said Colin. "Are you ready?" He patted her bottom to ensure she understood what it was she was ready for. "Yes, Sir," Alex replied. S-M-A-CK. Colin’s hand landed with a stinging wallop on her right buttock and sent a wave of pain shooting through Alex’s body. She gripped the covers tighter as his hand flew up and down, giving her no time to breathe or cry out. She didn’t know how many swats had scorched her behind but in minutes Alex was struggling to be free, free of his encircling arm, free of his hard lap, and most of all, free of his hard hand that was burning her butt. "Where are you going?" Colin said, taking time out to re-arrange Alex on his knee. "Wherever my bottom will be safe," Alex gasped, half laughing, half-crying. "It’s safe right here," said Colin when she was back in position. "That’s a matter of opinion," said Alex tartly. "It depends on which side you’re viewing it from. From here it looks pretty unsafe."

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"It won’t come to any serious harm in my care," Colin said, smacking her bottom hard and watching her legs kick. Alex didn’t reply. Now he was back into a steady smacking rhythm, she found it impossible to speak. She could only cling on and hope the end would come soon and, the thought struck her at exactly the same moment as Colin’s palm, it would come sooner if he had a hairbrush. She would buy one when they went out. When someone was as naughty as she now knew she was, it was right for her man to have the means to deal with her. This thought loomed so large in her mind, she missed the moment he stopped, and she lay passively waiting while he adjusted her again. His arm lifted her middle, and his right thigh slid up her legs before crossing his left thigh. She was laid down again but with her stinging butt now pointing directly up to the ceiling. It was so high she could see the two scarlet mounds, like ripe tomatoes, above his arm. Was it really that red or was it the pink mist that seemed to hover between her and the rest of the world, blurring him and the room into a far away scene unconnected to her and her seared flesh. "Isn’t that enough?" she asked plaintively. "Not nearly enough," Colin said. "My backside thinks it is," Alex grumbled. "I don’t know what you’re on about," Colin replied. "Your bottom is hitting my hand as hard as my hand is hitting your bottom, and you don’t hear me complaining." She felt his hand pat the tender skin of her situpon spot and knew what was coming next. Tears spilled from her eyes and she buried her face in the bedcover. "YEE-OW-OOOOO" Alex screeched into the bed, muffling the sound. God, that hurt and so did the next. She kicked her toes against the carpet in hopeless frustration while his hand turned her softest skin into a scorching furnace, and she

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sobbed all her hurt away. Colin woke with a start, and then relaxed. It was just traffic in the street. He kissed Alex softly, as she lay curled against his chest and stomach. He looked at his watch, almost midday. They’d dozed, loved, and slept the past twenty-four hours away, which was fine because they’d been pretty energetic pleasing each other. But, if she slept any longer, she wouldn’t sleep tonight. "Hey, you," Colin said, shaking her and nibbling her ear, "time to get up." Alex groaned and tried to hide in the pillow. "No, you don’t," said Colin, removing the pillow and rolling her on her back. "I want to sleep," Alex groaned. "You want to go shopping," Colin said, scooping her up and carrying her into the shower. He turned on the water, which brought with it a stream of abuse from Alex. "A girl with a bottom as tender as yours," Colin said, grinning at her thunderous expression, "should be very careful about what she says." They showered quickly, in silence at first, then as Alex recovered her spirits, with enough giggling to satisfy a class full of schoolgirls. "Why are we going shopping?" Alex asked, while Colin toweled her dry. "With luck the fellow stalking you will follow us and I can see him too." "It must be one of the cousins," Alex said as Colin wrapped her in a bathrobe, "but I still don’t understand why. They’ve nothing to lose. I’m not going to inherit." "My bet is on the rock star cousin," Colin agreed. "He probably has a drug habit to maintain -- or his kids have. But you reminded me of something I’ve been too busy to tell you these past few hours." "I’m the rightful heir and I’m worth millions," Alex said sarcastically. She was too busy herself, drying him in interesting places, to care much about some new twist to an old story.

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"Maybe and maybe," Colin replied, grinning at her wary expression. "Well, I’m glad that’s cleared up. For a moment I thought you knew something important." "Tracy told me yesterday the Will wasn’t as straightforward as she’d first thought," Colin continued, ignoring her interruption. He’d decided to present Tracy’s revelation as new information, rather than deceit. Alex and Tracy might need to know each other in future and they would have a better chance of getting by without this. "Go on," Alex said dreamily, tying his bathrobe and kissing his throat. This was much better than any inheritance. "The principal beneficiary was a child born to Adelaide Fisher between June and August 1945 or the descendants of said child, if they can be found." Alex stopped nuzzling Colin’s neck. "Do you think that means me?" she asked incredulously. "Doesn’t it?" "Wow," she said. "I think it does." "What I don’t understand," Colin continued, "is why Joss didn’t look for Adie when he came back. Or, if he did, why he couldn’t find her?" After a moment’s thought, Alex said indignantly, "You don’t listen to a word I say, do you? I told you why days ago." She folded her arms, tapped her foot on the floor ominously, and glared at him. "Okay, okay," Colin laughed. "Tell me again." "No! You’re the expert. I’m just the hopeless amateur who keeps getting it wrong," Alex simpered mockingly. Colin frowned. "I never said that…" he began. "You didn’t have to. I said it for you." Without another word, Colin stepped to Alex’s side, wrapped his left arm around her back, and bent her over his forearm. "Hey," Alex cried. "I’m the injured party here. You’re victimizing the victim." Colin didn’t answer. He tucked the hem of her robe between his arm and her back, exposing her

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ivory buttocks. He gave each cheek three sharp, stinging smacks, enjoying the sensation of his damp palm meeting her moist skin and enjoying the sight of her soft rounded orbs flashing, briefly, as white as her robe where his hand struck them, then blushing pink when he moved to another spot. "All right, I’ll talk," Alex cried, giggling. "Too late," Colin said. "I don’t like your attitude, young lady, so you can tell me after I’m done with you." Alex put her hands on her knees to support her weight. It seemed she might be here a while. She didn’t mind. This was the first time she’d ever been spanked in fun and it felt… wonderful. Delicious tremors radiated out from her middle, curling her toes in pleasure, as his hand stung her behind. Each swat seemed to have an echo, a sharp sting on her bent over bottom, followed by a burst of pure pleasure in her pussy. She studied her toes and that led her to her feet, not usually a part she had much time for. They were neatly together, alongside Colin’s feet, also neatly together, like shoes on a rack only pointing the other way. They looked well together, their neat feet. They looked like husband and wife feet. Alex wriggled her tush as the heat in her behind, and the feelings it generated, grew more insistent. His hand and her behind went well together too, she decided when a particularly well-placed slap sent her pussy into a trembling frenzy. She twisted around, grabbed the side of the bath, and spread her legs. It was time for them to practice other husband and wife ‘things’ now. "Gran called herself de Cheney on her marriage certificate," Alex purred as Colin’s hands found and cradled her swaying breasts. "Joss would have looked for Adelaide Fisher." "Shut up," Colin groaned. "I’m not done with you yet." Alex scanned Harrods’ selection of brushes. They

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had wooden hairbrushes but they were much too flimsy and the plastic ones were even worse. "Why are we looking at this stuff?" Colin complained. They’d wandered the streets all afternoon watching and waiting. "I’m buying you a hairbrush," Alex said. "I thought you didn’t like hairbrushes," Colin said. "I don’t," Alex replied. "That’s the point, isn’t it?" Colin looked about hoping no one was listening. The shop assistants were busy elsewhere, and the floor was emptying as it grew nearer closing time. "You can’t keep using your hand," Alex said. "I’m a pretty tough cookie. You’re the one who’ll end up bruised." "That’s for sure," Colin smiled nervously, embarrassed to be talking this way in such a public place. "Here’s what you need," Alex said, pouncing on a small rack at the farther end of the counter. She picked up a heavy old-fashioned brush with a flat, shiny back and patted it against her hand. "But it doesn’t have to be something as hard as that," Colin protested, apprehensively gazing at the brush. "I can’t imagine you ever being that naughty." His voice died to a whisper in case someone overheard. "Can’t you?" Alex replied. "You don’t think a woman who calls her own Grandmother a liar, a scheming slut and suggests she could have murdered her husband is being a tad bad?" "You weren’t to know," Colin countered. "The evidence…" "You didn’t jump to wicked conclusions," Alex interjected. "My views weren’t colored by knowing your Gran." "Even when you said I was letting my prejudice sway me, I still kept right on cursing her," Alex said grimly. "If I could do this to someone who spent her life trying her best for me, you’d better watch out

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for yourself in the future." Alex turned quickly away, before he could answer, and marched off to the till. Colin pretended to examine the tie rack while Alex paid. He considered her outburst, turning the words over and over in his mind. It was the pendulum swinging too far on the side of guilty that made him feel uneasy. So she’d said some harsh things about her Gran, so what? He’d thought some unpleasant things about all the members of his family down the years and he didn’t feel the need to go out and buy a hairbrush. He shrugged. She’d settle back to somewhere in between soon enough. People always did. Then they could get things straight. He was doing okay in his new masterful role, he just wasn’t ready to buy or use a hairbrush. He glanced at Alex, standing confidently in the line, who obviously didn’t share his misgivings. She was gazing at the woman ahead of her with a strange intensity, considering they were only a foot apart and had been for five minutes now. "Colin," he heard her whisper, as loud as she dared. Colin looked up. "Don’t look right away," Alex said quietly, "but slowly look over to the men’s jackets on my left. He’s there." Colin went back to examining the ties, pretending to decide between a blue or a red one. He tried seeing from the corner of his eye but it was no use. He was facing too far the wrong way. Choosing the blue tie, he set off to join Alex. Now he could see him, white, forties, thick hair with a short ponytail. He looked successful, moneyed, and cruel. His dark eyes, aquiline nose, and thin lips suggested a man used to being the boss. He didn’t look like he’d have Colin’s reservations about harsh punishment. "The rock star as country gentleman and manabout-town," Colin whispered. "I wish we’d seen photos of the cousins," Alex said. "Then we’d know."

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"Both of them could be in it, not to mention the kids," Colin said, "in which case we may be over matched." "What are we going to do?" "Go back to the hotel and think," said Colin.

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Chapter Fourteen Alex stretched and yawned. It was still early and the room was quiet, even outside the window, London seemed as sleepy as she was on this Sunday morning. She slipped out of Colin’s arm and padded across the carpeted floor to the dresser. She opened her underwear drawer as quietly as she could and stroked the hairbrush that nestled among her clothes. She grinned at the memory of their return yesterday when she presented him with her gift. Colin removed the stiff plastic cover, turned her sideways, and patted her buttocks with the back of the brush. "It’s a good fit," he said. "Thank you." They kissed fiercely, bruising their lips, before Colin released her and added, "Put the brush in your knickers drawer. That way you’ll get reminded at least once a day what happens to young ladies who won’t behave." Alex smiled, selected white panties and a bra, touched her daily reminder once again for luck, and crept softly to the closet for her dress. It had to be a dress for church, and she had to go to church. The past two weeks were the first time in her life she hadn’t been regularly and now, when she had so much to be thankful for, she hadn’t gone. She’d let Colin’s ‘you must be joking’ keep her away. The morning air was fresh, frosty. It nipped her nose and cheeks. Alex walked quickly. Morning service was at nine. It said so on the board when she’d visited the ancient church on Friday. She crossed the empty street, Londoners weren’t churchgoers either it seemed, and entered the small park opposite. Tall bushes lined the narrow path, giving her a queasy feeling but she dismissed it. The chances of the cousins being up and about and hanging around the park on the off chance she would come this way were astronomically high. She was more likely to be hit by lightning in punishment for missing church these past weeks.

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Her footsteps seemed to echo in the clear air. Somewhere nearby she could hear a man with a dog. That was re-assuring; witnesses were always handy. Not that they were needed, she reminded herself severely, because no villain would be about this early in the day. It was the faintest of movements, just a flash of something dark among the trees behind her right shoulder, but it was enough to set her heart thumping. She picked up the pace, her heels’ tock, tock, tocking faster on the hard pavement. The sound made her more frightened. If she was being pursued, he would know she had seen him and maybe he’d attack sooner thinking she might get away. Summoning all her will, she slowed her pace back to the brisk walk she’d set out at. Her head ached; the slow pounding ache that had been the bane of her life after he’d last hit her. The man with the dog was comfortably close as she entered a thickly wooded part of the path, which made her skin crawl. Alex looked about nervously; it would be here or not at all. When this gloomy evergreen patch was done, the path was open all the way to the road and the church opposite. A rustling branch was all the warning she needed; Alex yelled and pressed the alarm in her pocket. Its wailing screech stopped the man in his tracks. Then, realizing there was no going back, he leapt at her, the silvery flash of a knife blade foremost. Alex, given time to act by his momentary hesitation, dodged the blade and ran back along the path, almost knocking over the black and tan blur of a German Shepherd that raced passed her. Man and dog collided only a yard behind her in a snarling flurry of arms and legs that ended when the burly dog handler arrived and grabbed the man’s wrist. Almost contemptuously, the dog handler flicked the knife aside. The man was screaming abuse when another policeman arrived to pin him to the ground and handcuff him.

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"You sure you’re up to this?" Colin asked as Alex drank the Police Canteen’s hot sweet tea, recommended by the desk sergeant as a preventative for shock -- and a few other less pleasant things Colin chose not to regale Alex with. "I’m fine, really," she said. "I’m on tenterhooks waiting to hear who this lunatic is but otherwise, I’m fine. I’ve never had so much excitement in my life." "Few people do," Colin said, "and they like it that way." "Wimps!" snorted Alex. "I wouldn’t have missed this for anything." "How are you going to get through the rest of your life?" Colin laughed, impressed by her fierce expression and shining eyes. "I’m thinking of becoming a private detective," Alex said. "What do you think?" "I think you’re mad," Colin replied, "but I can see how going back to an office job might be difficult." "Ms Holroyd, Mr. Redesdale," the sergeant’s voice boomed down the narrow corridor, "could you come in here, please." He pointed to a door beside him. Alex and Colin entered the room, which was dark except for one dimly lit window that showed the man who attacked Alex being interviewed by two other men. "Do you recognize him?" the sergeant asked. "Only as the man who attacked me," said Alex. "We’re pretty confident we know but we’re hoping you were going to confirm it." "His name is Nicholas Harrison. Does that mean anything to you?" "No," said Alex, "should it?" "We didn’t meet the de Cheney cousins," Colin added, "and it’s only recently we learned they will lose their inheritance if a rightful heir is found." "I don’t know anything about any de Cheney cousins," said the sergeant, puzzled. "This man’s

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the lawyer for the ‘De Cheney Fund for Unmarried Mothers." Seems he’s been embezzling the funds since the need for it disappeared a decade or so ago." "But," Alex cried, "how did he know about me?" "Your arrival caused quite a stir up there in Ashton, I guess," said the sergeant. "He heard about you and your claim from one of the ladies of the historical society, he says. Not that the woman knew what she was saying, if you follow my meaning, she didn’t know he was embezzling from the fund and your claim would bring it all out into the open." "I’m lucky the cousins are honest men," said Alex with a shudder. "I could have had three angry dispossessed men after me." "If you don’t need us any more," Colin said to the sergeant, "I think we should go." He wrapped his arm around Alex and gently walked her away. "Maybe I won’t become a private detective, after all," said Alex sadly as they entered the hotel lobby, ignoring the interested stares of everyone who’d seen them arrive in a police car. "I never even thought of that." "Me neither," Colin agreed, "and yet, Tracy almost did. I told you. Remember?" "No," said Alex curtly, not interested in anything Tracy might have said. "I’m going to church. I should just about catch Evensong. What are you going to do?" "I’ll come with you," Colin said after a pause. "Just to be sure you’re safe. You know what happened last time you went." Alex punched his arm playfully. "Are you going to wait outside for the service to finish?" she asked. Colin looked sheepish and said, "No, I’ll join you. We’ve had a pretty fortunate escape and thanking somebody seems appropriate." "We?" asked Alex. "Yes, we. You didn’t get murdered and I didn’t lose you. I was terrified when you went out this

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morning even though I knew the police were going to be watching. I imagined a million things going wrong. I wanted to run after you, drag you back inside, and keep you safe." "Oh," said Alex, blushing and looking at the floor of the elevator as it carried them up to their room. She didn’t know what to say. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Colin ushered Alex out, and they walked hand in hand down the corridor. "Do you think I will inherit?" Alex asked when they reached their room door and Colin was fumbling for the key. "I’ve no idea," he said, "it still seems a long shot to me. I guess we’ll know tomorrow when the lawyers are open." "It’s just I’d like to stay and I don’t know if I could without the money," Alex said avoiding his eye as she passed him and entered the room. "I’d like you to stay too," Colin said nervously, "and I think I can help you there. Will you marry me?" "Of course," Alex said simply. "I’ve been waiting all my life for you to ask." Colin decided not to try and understand her comment. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her instead.

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Epilogue Six months later "Colin," Alex asked as they lay under the thick goose down quilt of their bed in the new Cheney House. "Do you think I did the right thing in letting the cousins keep their share of the inheritance?" "Yes, I do," Colin replied sleepily. "Why?" "I don’t know, it’s a lot of money I guess. And buying this house before the lawyer’s insurance company has paid up was that wise?" "They’ve agreed, in writing, to pay," Colin murmured. "That’s a big deal with lawyers, and the bank was happy to give you the mortgage on the strength of it. Stop worrying." "I’ll try," Alex said. She lay quiet for a moment, and then whispered, "Do you think it right for an aristocratic lady to be spanked by a mere commoner?" "I think, My Lady, in these upside down times," Colin said firmly, rolling her onto her tummy and sliding his hand underneath her hips, "it’s practically a commoner’s duty to redress the balance of all those past centuries of peasant abuse." "Good," Alex giggled, "I’d begun to think you were in awe of my newly elevated status. Ow!" "The only thing likely to remain ‘elevated’ around here, Mrs. Redesdale," Colin said lifting her middle, "is your bottom." He slapped her again. Alex squeaked. "That’s all I needed to know," she said, wriggling to escape the sharp teasing spanks that stung like bees. "You can go back to sleep now." "I think not, My Lady. You need a good seeing to and that’s what you’re going to get." "Yes, sir," Alex said. Colin rolled her onto her back, his face a picture of stern resolution. "That’s better," he said, pinning her hands above her head. "I’m the Lord of this Manor and

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don’t you forget it." "No, sir," Alex said, closing her eyes and wrapping her legs around him as his weight pressed down on and into her. She couldn’t remember now why sex had been so difficult that first time. Now she spent every waking moment wanting him inside her, and feeling empty if he wasn’t. She’d been right about that, back in Sydney when she’d glimpsed those higher peaks waiting to be climbed, even if she’d been completely unaware, baffled, or just plain wrong about everything else that had happened since. They were lucky the inheritance was enough to live on, she thought breathlessly as his weight sent waves of pleasure surging out from her middle, because they would have been hopeless detectives.

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