"I did some research on the net, looking for material to use with the dormouse prog. I googled you and got very recent stuff, and then dormice and found three things by C. Watts. I opened them and the name was Charles Watts. I checked that out and found a reference to an old school reunion and there was a photo. To be fair it didn't look much like you, then I saw it was a Bristol school. I made an assumption and you confirmed it. The coincidences were too strong, it had to be you."

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by: Angharad.
part 167.

I drove home from the hospital after teary farewell to my father, he understood my position I think, I simply told him, that if I was interesting then the press would be looking to do features, which would mean research. He nodded. Whether he understood the full implications, I don't know, but I did. I almost felt like applying for a shotgun licence, for killing vermin, but I don't think tabloid journalists are covered, or lawyers.

Driving home, I tried to feel positive, I wanted to accept that I was living the dream and in a month's time, I would have achieved something I'd wanted for many years, to match my body and mind. Maybe my prayers were being answered or my wishes granted, it had taken a bit longer than I'd wanted.

I was suspicious as I turned into the road, thankfully there seemed to be no unusual cars about. I thought about hiding mine away from the house, but then it could get stolen or vandalised, so I left it.

I dashed into the house and after making a cuppa, checked my emails.

'Hi Cathy, several requests for interviews from press, have told them you are unavailable. Can you call Prof Agnew? Stay low, Pippa.'

'Cathy please call me, Tom Agnew.'

'Saw the news, what can I say? My heroine, Simon.'

'I'd still like that bike ride, Des.'

"Haven't you done enough damage?" I asked his email. I felt like writing back 'Foxtrot Oscar!' But I didn't, I didn't want to sink to his level.

Thinking about preparing for a siege, I checked the store cupboard and freezer. I could do with some stuff. I grabbed my bag and rushed off to Tesco. I was back an hour later with a car full of fuel, a freezer with enough in it to last for a couple of weeks, and supplies to make fresh bread or soups. I hoped my dad would understand if I went to ground.

I called the Professor. "Hi, Prof it's Cathy."

"Hello, young lady, how are you?"

"Wondering if I did the right thing."

"About the interview?"

"Yes, everything else was right."

"I agree, I think too that sometimes it's better to give them some words than let them make them up. You're welcome to come and stay here if necessary."

"That's very generous of you," I felt almost moved to tears.

"Well, they'll find Simon's place, they'll do the same with your parents, and your college rooms. Stay away from the university until we have some idea of the interest of the media. Students have been asked to close ranks and to be fair, they see you as being hunted for something you haven't done. Some were actually quite incensed for you."

"Wow, I'm impressed by your levels of persuasion."

"Me, it wasn't me, it was your tutorial groups and Pippa who organised things. They got everyone to agree to refer people back to the university press office, who have a prepared statement. It mentions nothing about your history. I've also taken the liberty to speak to Sussex, who sounded supportive and have asked their press office to make a similarly bland and gender-neutral statement, they said you had asked for your records to be amended, they have been."

"That is brilliant, thank you so much. I'll try to do what I can online to help with the project. I'd like to see my dad tomorrow and warn him about my going to ground."

"Well, I'll leave a key under the large flower holder on the right-hand side of the front door. The burglar alarm code is the same as the STD code. You have fifteen seconds to punch in the numbers and press 'off'.

"But the STD code is only three numbers," I stated worried I was missing something."

"From abroad?"

"Ah, got you, so is that five or six numbers?"

"Five, anymore and this ageing brain would forget them."

"I doubt it."

I clicked in the number on my mobile, purely as an aide-memoire of course. Well in the heat of the moment, who knows what my brain would do?

"Right, wait to hear from us before you turn up at work, and park your car around the back, the big gates open from the inside, go through the house to open them, and don't let the dog escape will you?"

"No of course not. I'll contact Pippa when I expect to be down there. Would you mind if I have visitors?"

"I presume you mean Simon and his sister?"

"Yes."

"No problem, as long as they don't bring a tail with them."

"I'll tell them to be careful."

"Okay, well see you soon, take care and drive carefully."

"I will, thanks so much, Prof."

"It's about time you called me Tom."

"Yes, Prof."

"I don't know why I bother, bloody women," he put the phone down, and I roared.

Next stop Simon. He wasn't in, but I did speak to Stella.

"They've been around looking for you. I told them you didn't live here and to ask the university, so hopefully, they are staking out your rooms and getting very bored."

"Very good, Stella. I'm going to stay at the professor's house for a bit. I can work from there and hopefully will be able to see you two as well. Please make sure you aren't being followed and tell Simon the same."

"Cor, this is like cloak and dagger stuff. John le Carre isn't about is he?"

"Who?" I knew perfectly well who she meant, I just wanted to play her up.

"The Soldier, sailor, spy blokey."

"That was Alec Guinness."

"No, he was the star of it."

"George Smiley."

"Yes, two series and he barely moved a muscle, now that is acting." She offered.

"Think I prefer George Clooney to George Smiley," I joked.

The doorbell rang and I froze. I looked at my watch, it was nearly ten, who would be calling at this time? With my stomach churning, I asked Stella to hold. I nipped upstairs and looked out of the bedroom window. Somebody was standing about in what looked like cycling gear. The bell rang again.

"I think I know who it might be, if it isn't I'll call you back."

"Why don't I just wait, and if there's any problems, let me know and I'll call Daddy and get him to send some reinforcements."

"Or the police."

"Yes okay, I'll wait until you know who it is." Stella hung on the phone and I put the receiver down on the table.

"Hello Cathy," greeted me when I opened the door.

"What are you doing here?" I wasn't hostile just not friendly, "It's ten o'clock."

"I know about Charlie," he said.

"My brother? What about him?"

"Come on, Cathy, I'm not stupid."

"I'm not doing any more interviews, with you or anyone."

"I'm not asking for one, I'm hoping I can help you avoid some." He smiled disarmingly.

"I thought what we did was supposed to do that?" I felt a tear run down my face.

"That was my intention, I just didn't expect to find anything unusual about you. Except you didn't exist last year, but somebody called Charles Watts had an article about dormice in Hampshire, in the 'Proceedings of the Hants Natural History Society.' So maybe we'd better talk?"

"You'd better come in." He took his bike around the back of the house and locked it, then came in through the back door. He dumped his coat, gloves and helmet in the kitchen, and also took his cycling shoes off.

While he was doing this, I told Stella it was a friend.

"What sort of bike is it?" I asked him.

"Colnago," he replied.

"Good?"

"Excellent. Goes like the proverbial off a shovel."

"Okay, tea or coffee?"

"I brought the wine we didn't have earlier," he held up a bottle of red wine.

"Is that wise when you're riding?"

"Yeah, do it all the time."

I got some glasses and a bottle of water. He looked quizzically at me. "If I drink water and wine, I don't get sick."

"Not together, I hope?" he pleaded, "cause then I'd know you were weird."

"Separate glasses," I answered laughing.

"Sounds like a follow up to Separate Tables."

"Is that a book or something?" I risked showing my ignorance.

"Dunno about a book, but there was a film, couldn't tell you who was in it, saw it about a thousand years ago, when I was a nipper."

We sat down in the lounge and he opened the bottle with his own corkscrew. I brought out some cheese and biscuits and necessary crocks and cutlery.

I sipped the wine which was good even though it hadn't 'breathed'. It was from Chile, which surprised me.

"So how do you know about Charlie?"

"I did some research on the net, looking for material to use with the dormouse prog. I googled you and got very recent stuff, and then dormice and found three things by C. Watts. I opened them and the name was Charles Watts. I checked that out and found a reference to an old school reunion and there was a photo. To be fair it didn't look much like you, then I saw it was a Bristol school. I made an assumption and you confirmed it. The coincidences were too strong, it had to be you."

"So you're a clever dick. So once you push off from here, you sell my story do you?"

"No, believe it or not, the last thing I need is for the excrement to hit the air con. I want to do the dormouse programme and I want you to present it."

"Why?" I asked dumbfounded.

He loaded a cracker with some Brie and crunched it around in his mouth before he responded. "I could say, that you are a beautiful woman with a television-friendly voice and a lovely, natural manner of seducing an audience."

"You told me that before."

"See, I'm a consistent liar," he said and ate the rest of his cracker, chuckling as he did so.

"Liar, you were lying?" I blushed with anger.

"Yes, I'm madly in love with you and want you to have my babies."

"Very funny, besides Simon is half as big again as you and has a violent persuasion. He is also very jealous."

"Yeah, and stinking rich. I know, I googled him too, and his sister, the nurse and his father the fourth richest man in England."

"What Henry? he isn't is he?" I gasped, then took a good shot of the wine.

"Depends on which list you look at, but it's fourth or fifth."

"I had no idea. He's a lovely man."

"I'll bet, lots of old money are, let me film on their land and so on. Then if they get anything interesting I get calls to come and film it. Not all of them shoot birds of prey."

"Including a certain royal, who of course knew nothing about the hen harriers." I spat.

"Well, without evidence there is no proof, pity though."

"Why can't the press go and piss all over him?" I asked feeling spiteful.

"They do, especially when he's pissed. Just look at any tabloid. He lives in a goldfish bowl."

"Yeah I suppose, but he's such an arsehole, I can't find any sympathy," I confessed.

"Yes, but which came first, the arsehole or the pressure." How could he sound so reasonable? Hen harriers were rare birds by any standards and whoever did it got clean away, even though loads of people suspect they know who did it. Such is the law.

"Look," he said, "how about we concentrate on your problems rather than trying to condemn an heir to the throne because he's of questionable intelligence."

"How can we do that?" I was just getting on my soapbox and he was changing the subject.

"Well let's look at possible scenarios...."

We talked for two hours, at times he was very serious at others we fell about laughing. We ate all the crackers and cheese and drank all the wine, I also drank some of the water. The more wine I drank the funnier he became, or his jokes did.

I went off to make coffee while he popped to the cloakroom. He was back in the lounge by the time I walked in with the tray and some sponge.

"Hey that looks homemade," he said, licking his lips.

"Yeah, well, make the most of it, because Daddy has the rest of it."

"You made it?"

"Duh? No, it was the scullery maid, but because I knew you were coming I gave her the night off." I answered sarcastically.

"Hmmm," he said after taking a bite. "If I get you to elope with me, will you make me cakes like this?"

"Look stop the silly questions, I'm engaged, see," I flashed the ring at him.

"Yeah, but we could be in Gretna Green by daylight." He said his eyes dancing.

"Don't be silly," I chided him.

"I'm being deadly serious. I fancy you like mad." His eyes showed something other than a sparkle.

"You realise you've just killed your dormouse programme?"

"For one night of passion with you, it would be a fair trade."

"Sorry. I'm spoken for."

"He wouldn't have to know?"

"No. I'm not interested."

"Damn!" He drank his coffee.

"Maybe you'd better go," I suggested.

"Okay, tell Simon you passed with flying colours."

"What?"

"I bet him I could get you to go to bed with me. He said you wouldn't."

"You know Simon?" I asked appalled that he had indulged in such nefarious activities.

"Yeah, we were at school together, and I know Stella, a bit. She is lovely but crazy."

"So tell me about this bet?" I asked him.

"I said, I'd met you at the university and wanted to do a programme with you. He told me to keep my paws off you, that you and he were an item and going to get married. I told him that no woman could resist my charms, he told me that you would. He was right. I owe him a rather nice case of Scotch."

I stood and fumed. "Please go."

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