It’s well after ten by the time Gerald pulls the Citroen to a halt outside the front entrance to St John’s House. The building is in darkness; although I called Celeste and told her we were coming over on the last car ferry, it’s occurred to me more than once that she may have cut and run, fearing that the wrath of God is about to descend on her — which it may yet do, if my companion’s expression is any guide to his frame of mind.

“She said to let ourselves in,” I mention to him as I check my make-up. “It was one of the few bits I could actually understand, she was crying so much.”

“I suppose we’ll have to convince her that it’s all under control, that there’s every chance Niamh will be back with her mother in the morning.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“Remember Kerrie saying Dave had given the authorities descriptions of them both? I think you’ll find Niamh has very short hair now, and that it’s been dyed the same colour as mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cathryn looks totally different as well.” I lift a few of the dark strands resting on my right shoulder. “Before she came here Celeste was a hairdresser. And before Sunday I was a redhead.”

“Were you indeed?”

“Ginger, same as Kerrie.”

“Both of you? I’d never have known.”

“You’re not meant to, that’s the point.”

I feel my mouth curl in a coquettish grin, and immediately regret it. The only way I could have chosen a more inappropriate moment to flirt with this man — this man! — was if we’d been at his dying mother’s bedside.

Fortunately his eyes tell me he’s as much in need of a little light relief as I am.

We leave the car and walk carefully along the short path leading to the porch. Gerald turns the handle and pushes open a door that gives onto a pitch-black hallway. I begin to follow him inside, but he puts out a hand and whispers that it might be best if I remain on the threshold until he’s sure the house is safe. I don’t argue; he’s the one with the military background, and in an uncertain situation like this I’m more than happy to be the junior partner.

Suddenly there’s light. Celeste is descending the wide staircase, dressed in a rich red robe decorated with stylised silhouettes of African warriors. She lowers her face as I move towards her, as clear a confession as I could have wished for.

“Celeste, this is Gerald Cooper, the gentleman I told you about,” I inform her as he comes to stand beside me.

“I am so sorry,” she murmurs. “So sorry…”

“Yes, well it’s a bit late for apologies,” huffs Gerald, his voice harsh enough for me to cast him a reproachful glance.

“We’re not here to blame anyone,” I tell the girl. “We just need you to tell us what happened.”

She looks as if she’s going to burst into tears at any moment, but manages to sniff them back.

“They left this morning. Early, before nine o’clock. Miss Simmons said that if anyone came here, I should tell them she was taking Niamh to London for the day.”

“And that didn’t strike you as unusual?” wonders Gerald.

Celeste nods her head several times, like a child being interviewed by the police after she and her big sister have been caught shoplifting.

“Was she talking about anyone in particular?” I ask her.

“Men were looking for her. Bad men. I saw one of them yesterday, hiding in the trees.”

Cunningham.

The bastard got his ‘result’.

If I catch up with him the only undercover operation he’ll be fit for is infiltrating a secret society consisting exclusively of quadriplegics.

I take Gerald’s arm, pulling him close and standing on my toes so I can speak quietly into his ear.

“The MoD. They wanted to flush Cathryn out, see where she runs to.”

“And their plan succeeded, except that she now has a hostage she can use against them.”

Celeste hears this, and begins wailing.

“This isn’t your fault,” I say firmly. “Cathryn’s responsible for taking Niamh, not you. Now if you want to help–“

“I need to go through any personal effects Miss Simmons may have left behind,” Gerald puts in. “Ruth, can you stay by the phone in case Kerrie rings?”

“Will do.”

“We’d also be grateful for some coffee and sandwiches,” he says to Celeste. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m ravenous.”

“Is there an extension in the kitchen?” I ask her. “Come on, love, pull yourself together.”

“On the…on the left as you go in.”

“Okay, why don’t I fix us all something while you two have a scout around?”

Fifteen minutes later I’ve filled plates with slices of cooked ham, salami, processed Bavarian cheese and crusty bread, and set out bowls of pickles, crackers and crisps. I’m pouring out the coffee when Gerald comes through the door, boiling with anger.

“What is it?” I cry, going over to him. “What did you find?”

“That stupid girl!” he rages.

“Oh God, what’s she done now?”

“I’m talking about Niamh. Dover, it appears, was a red herring. They flew from Gatwick to Paris this afternoon, on passports Niamh — and Celeste - were complicit in faking.” He hands me a small white envelope. “Meet Mrs Rachel Holmes and her seventeen year old daughter Teresa.”

The faces in the miniature photographs I take out are recognisably those of Cathryn and Niamh, though as I feared they’ve both adopted short, boyish hairstyles.

“Oh my giddy aunt,” I gasp. “I was right…”

“Put me in a room with the three of them and I wouldn’t know who to strangle first.”

“What’ll Kerrie say?”

“It’s what she might do that worries me. Because that’s not all. From Paris they were booked on a connecting flight to Bucharest.”

I feel my legs buckle beneath me.

Bucharest.

The capital of Romania.

Of which Bucovina is a province.

“We can’t say anything,” I mumble. “She’ll go after them. I know she will.”

“Yes, and thanks to her inheritance she now has the resources to bribe her way across the Iron Curtain.”

I slump into a chair and bang my fist against my forehead.

But tell me this: where does Kerrie Latimer’s father fit in?
That’s one of the things we’ve been trying to find out.

“Gerry, did she tell you if the cheque’s cleared yet?”

“I believe the money reached her account on Thursday or Friday…”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” I wait for him to sit before going on. “I’ve a hunch the will might be a forgery. It could have been the MoD’s way of making sure Kerrie travelled to Northcroft, found the casket and brought it back to show Cathryn. But I–“

“How did they know she’d search the house?”

“Oh, I think someone planted that idea in her head before she even set off. On Saturday night I saw Dave reading the notebook. He didn’t turn a hair.”

“You’re saying he’s a government agent too?”

“He became Kerrie’s boyfriend around the same time Helen Sutton died. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. And before you say anything, how on earth was I supposed to break that to her? But to return to the will, what I couldn’t work out was why the sum involved was so big. I mean, a quarter of a million…and that was only her father’s share. A tenth of that amount would’ve been enough to get her up there.”

Gerald’s face has gone white.

“They want her to follow Cathryn. That’s what the money is for. She has to know, Ruth. As soon as she gets in touch we’ve got to tell her everything.”

“Not everything. We can’t afford to drive a wedge between her and Dave. He might be a plant, but at the moment he’s the only person she can turn to. Besides, he probably has as little idea of what this is all about as I did.” He shakes his head, but I can see that I’ve swung him round to my way of thinking. “So it’s decided, then. Come on, let’s eat.”

More lies.

But the prospect of Kerrie walking blindly into that nest of quasi-religious vipers, her ignorance compounded by my unwillingness to divulge the more unnerving aspects of my encounter with Susan Dwyer, helps me justify them.

We nibble at the food — neither of us has any real appetite, despite having had nothing since lunchtime — then I cover what’s left with kitchen foil to help it stay fresh for later.

“What are we going to do now?” I ask Gerald as I follow him through to the lounge.

“Well, we can’t leave until the morning. I think you should get Celeste to make up a bed for you. I’m happy to man the phone.”

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t sleep a wink. No, I’ll stay here.”

“Are you sure? It could be a long time before you get some proper rest. Cathryn’s mother is still in hospital, remember. She’ll need someone to pick her up when they discharge her tomorrow.”

“God, I’d forgotten about that. And then we’ll have to let her know that not only has her darling daughter done a runner with a teenage girl, she’s also about to lose her home and spend the rest of her days in a…”

Cathy was adopted in 1942. That’s all I know. Millicent’s kept it from her. I haven’t a clue why.

“What is it, Ruth?”

“You know, that might be a blessing in disguise.”

“It’s a very good disguise.”

“Cathryn isn’t Millicent’s natural daughter. She was adopted at the age of four or five. I got that from Kerrie, by the way. And listen to this: Cathryn has never been told!”

“Mrs Simmons must have her reasons…”

“Yes, and won’t it be interesting to find out what they are? In the meantime, let’s see what her room has to show us. Celeste can do the boring bit.”

Gerald shrugs his shoulders, then leads the way upstairs.

It isn’t long before we’re busy sorting through the pile of papers, photographs, keepsakes and other assorted memorabilia Celeste has helped us assemble on the desk next to the dressing table. After a while I find other matters to occupy my time, the cramps in my abdomen having issued a stern reminder that my period is in full flow. That problem addressed, I rinse my face and hands, use my index finger as an improvised toothbrush, refresh my lipstick and treat my neck to an extra splash of scent. It’s all a bit make-do-and-mend, but considering the circumstances things could have been a lot worse.

Back in Millicent’s room I pull up a chair, lifting from the heap anything that might be of relevance. If my hand collides with Gerald’s on ever more frequent occasions, it’s not my fault we’re working on such a small surface.

A breakthrough of sorts arrives when he shows me an old black-and-white photograph of Millicent and her husband standing in a suburban garden, she draped in a Japanese flag while he carries a ceremonial sword.

“Where did they get those?” I wonder.

“Wasn’t Millicent a nurse in the Far East at one point?”

“Yeah, in Singapore. Arthur was badly injured when his ship was attacked. The day after he was brought to the hospital they were evacuated.”

Gerald rubs his chin.

“This is just a guess — but I’ve a funny feeling Millicent may have been working for Force 136.”

“Which is…?”

“It was the Singapore branch of the SOE — the Special Operations Executive.”

My eyes widen.

“They co-ordinated all the resistance movements, didn’t they?”

“That’s right. But 136 was disbanded shortly before the Japanese invaded.”

“Was Romania occupied?”

“Officially no. They–“

He doesn’t finish his sentence, for at that moment a telephone begins ringing. We hurry down to the lounge and find Celeste, who has been waiting dutifully for just such an eventuality, talking quietly into the mouthpiece.

“Mrs Cooper,” she says, passing it to Gerald.

“Just popping out for a smoke,” I mouth at him.

I make my way through the dining room to the verandah, where I light my first cigarette since we drove off the ferry. My watch tells me it’s nearly half-past eleven; this time last night I was with Padraig, worried only about how long I should let him fondle my left breast. Now I’m looking across the lawn towards a belt of trees my imagination has swarming with secret agents, any one of whom might decide that the three people in the house they’re staking out know far more than is good for them.

There’s much to be said for living every day as if it were your last.

I’m almost down to the filter when Gerald appears, deep lines of concern etched across his face.

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” he says. “David has lost her.”

“Lost her? How?”

“All he was prepared to tell Rosemary was that they’d had a fight. He thinks she may have bought a ticket for the Zeebrugge ferry, so he’s going to be on the next one. Reading between the lines, so to speak, it’s quite possible that he’s slipped up and let the cat out of the bag. If he did…”

“Zeebrugge’s in Belgium, isn’t it?” He nods his head. “Then I know where she’s going. One of the girls who went to Bucovina fifteen years ago lived in Brussels at the time. The address is in the notebook, but we made copies. I’ve got one in my purse.”

Gerald lets out a loud sigh.

“I must say I don’t like the idea of Kerrie wandering around a foreign country on her own — especially when she’s in a state of emotional turmoil. And I know that she doesn’t speak French.”

“I do, though.”

“Fluently?”

“Bien couramment. Comme une autochthone.”

“Like a…?”

“Native.”

“Wait a minute, you’re not suggesting we follow them? What about your passport?”

I dig inside my bag and wave the document in front of him.

“Never leave home without it.”

His eyes are troubled. Events are moving too quickly; one by one, the certainties of his life are being swept away.

“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” he says.

“I think we need to come to a decision now,” I argue as he steers me back inside. “You say you care for her. I need to make amends for, well, you know…”

“When I asked about your passport I was referring to the fact that you’ve been involved in this case for a long time. The authorities are certain to be on the look-out for you — and not just at Dover, I’ll be bound.”

“We have to try, Gerry. At least I have to.” I meet and hold his gaze. “And I want you with me.”

“I don’t know, Ruth…”

I turn from him, arms folded across my stomach. Within moments his hands have come to rest on my shoulders; I feel my body lean back automatically at his touch, and although the sensation is akin to falling off a wall with my eyes shut and not an inkling as to how far it might be to the ground, my mind doesn’t protest.

Now if I move my head slowly around…

But Gerald isn’t cut from the same cloth as Cunningham. If his smile proves he’s appreciated the closeness we’ve just shared, he isn’t about to take advantage of it.

“In the morning,” he repeats, and this time his tone leaves no room for dissent.

We head for the lounge and find that Celeste has laid out sheets, blankets and a thick counterpane on the sofa. She’s also placed little footstools in front of it. I take off my jacket and shoes, then sit down and pull the bedding over my skirt.

“I’ll be chivalrous and bag the armchair,” offers Gerald.

“Don’t be silly. The heating went off more than an hour ago. You’ll freeze.”

“I’ve suffered far worse privations, I can assure you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t suffer any at all on my account. Now let’s do the sensible thing and keep each other warm.”

I raise the edge of the quilt, inviting him to settle beside me. He rolls his eyes; he’s licked and he knows it.

“But we won’t turn the light off,” he says.

“No, we’d better not.”

He takes his place on the sofa. I wait for him to cuddle me, but he’s much too respectful so after a few moments I link arms with him and let my head sink into the cosy hollow where his shoulder meets his chest. All I can do after that is relax to the rhythm of his breathing as the grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticks relentlessly towards daybreak and the telephone maintains its stubborn silence.

I wake to the sound of Gerald yawning. He stands up, steals out of the room in his stockinged feet and closes the door behind him. I rub my eyes, squinting in the bright sunshine streaming in from the east-facing window.

Another morning.

Another chapter in a tale H P Lovecraft would have dismissed as too fanciful.

While I’m alone I reach back to unhook my bra. I may have become so used to wearing them that I feel undressed without one, but they weren’t made to be slept in.

After I’ve put on my shoes and run a comb through my hair I sit on the edge of the sofa and wait for Gerald to return. When he does, I can tell immediately that he’s been awake all night.

“I take it she didn’t ring,” I say as I haul myself to my feet.

“No, and Rosemary hasn’t heard from her either. I called just before I went to the bathroom.”

“Speaking of which, I’d better use the shower. I must stink.”

When I come back he’s fast asleep. I decide to go out and stretch my legs before I make myself coffee; the sun isn’t yet high enough to counter the cold northerly breeze that’s sprung up during the night, and as I can’t be bothered to fetch my jacket I hug my arms until I’ve reached the shelter of the woods…

…where I nearly go flying as I catch my instep on the loose cable some idiot has thrown over the wall.

Men were looking for her. Bad men. I saw one of them yesterday, hiding in the trees.

Or maybe it’s attached to something.

A telephone wire, for example.

I don’t have to follow the cable very far before my theory is confirmed. The only question is, where does the other end lead?

Hang on, didn’t we pass a set of road works last night as we drove up the hill? And wasn’t there one of those huts the men use in wet weather, even though it hasn’t been raining?

I march straight for the main road, indignation beating back the urge to run and wake Gerald. But my pace slows when I notice that the car parked a few yards from the front entrance is a light blue Austin Allegro.

And I come to a complete stop as I realise that the dark-haired woman at the wheel isn’t its only occupant.

Cunningham steps out, spits a piece of chewing gum onto the pavement and spends a good half a minute looking me up and down. I feel my cheeks begin to colour at the memory of his tongue inside my mouth; they cool when I recall the way he tossed me aside with no more consideration than he’d show towards an old dog end.

“Get in,” he orders me. “Your boss would like a heart-to-heart.”

I have no choice but to do as he says.

“Hair looks nice,” he smirks as I open the car door. “Poof.”

“Sod off before I knee you in the bollocks.”

“Very ladylike.”

One of these days I’ll give you a blow job, darling. Then we’ll discover if I’ve literally bitten off more than I can chew.

I didn’t say any of that out loud, did I?

No, he’d have come back with something. That type always do.

Suki Tatsukichi — I can’t bring myself to think of her as Ruth, so fully do I identify with that name — makes a single movement with her eyes and Cunningham is sent packing.

“Just us girls, eh?” I chuckle, settling into the seat and pulling the door shut.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

“To offer me a pay rise? Don’t bother. Ten per cent of nothing is…well, you can do the arithmetic yourself.”

“If you check your bank account you’ll find you’ve been more than adequately rewarded for your services.”

“Really? What’s the going rate for aiding and abetting a kidnapping?”

“That was unforeseen. We had no idea she would stoop so low.”

“Niamh has a crush on Cathryn. She’ll have jumped at the chance to go on a big adventure with her mum’s best friend. I thought the agent you placed with the family would have realised that and had the sense to keep the girl away from her. I only hope he does a better job of looking after Kerrie because I’ll tell you this much, she isn’t coming back without her daughter.”

Suki’s brows lift, despite her clear reluctance to acknowledge my deductive skills.

“The reason I came to see you, Ruth, is to inform you that we’re taking you off this case with immediate effect.”

“Is that right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I get it. You’re going to whisk me back to the north-east before I can talk to Mrs Simmons and discover who Cathryn really is — and how she’s connected with what happened in Bucovina fifteen years ago.”

“That needn’t concern you. We have the situation in hand.”

“Course you do. I’d be a fool to think otherwise, wouldn’t I?”

The look she throws at me is typically acerbic, yet there’s something else lurking behind those almond-shaped eyes — an emotion I can’t identify.

“How’s your adjustment coming along?” she asks.

“You really want to know?”

“I have to keep track of your progress. It’s part of my job.”

I’m gripped by an urge to berate her for keeping so much from me, for allowing me to spend months believing I still had a chance of returning to my original body. It passes.

“Okay, I suppose.”

“As vague as ever,” she sighs.

“It’s all you’re getting.”

Sliding a hand inside her jacket, she produces two plain brown envelopes and passes me the slimmer of the pair.

“A rail warrant, First Class, valid between Ryde Esplanade and Northcroft-on-Heugh.”

“So I’m heading back to the Gladstone? How jolly.”

“Trisha Hodgson and her brother-in-law have been digging. We’d prefer them to desist.”

“Oh, I’m being told what the mission is this time? Wonders will never cease!”

“Don’t be flippant. Trisha already knows more than she should.”

“Like the fact that Carol Vasey isn’t who everyone thinks she is? That’s right, I found out what really went on the night Bob Hodgson died. Hurts to say this, but I actually ended up feeling sorry for you. Doesn’t stop me hating you for not coming clean, though. What was the matter, didn’t you reckon I could handle the truth?”

If my words have any effect on her, she doesn’t show it.

“This contains an agreement annulling your marriage to Timothy Hansford-Jones on the grounds of non-consummation,” she says, holding out the other envelope. “All it needs is your signature. I can have it pushed through by the end of the week.”

I give her a long, searching stare.

“You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?” I chuckle. “Big favour you’re asking. Wearing a wedding ring saves me from an awful lot of unwanted admirers.”

“Perhaps it does. But it’s a burden to you all the same.”

She’s got me there. Of all the baggage weighing me down, the piece tying me to a husband I’ve never met has the potential to be the most restrictive.

But that isn’t what persuades me to accede to her request. Knowing that she’s lost fifteen years of her life, what right have I to deny her the chance to enjoy the time she has left?

“Okay, all done.” I give her back the signed annulment and begin twisting off her ring. “Anything else before I go?”

“We’ll send a courier at the weekend to pick up Kerrie Latimer’s car and the belongings she left at the hotel.”

“Nice way of making sure I toe the line.”

She reaches across to open the door.

“Goodbye, Ruth.”

I climb from the car and watch it disappear in the direction of the town centre. Walking back to St John’s House, I feel drained and discontented. This adventure has given me a sense of purpose, one that’s just been wrenched from my hands. It irks me that I can play no further part in helping Kerrie retrieve her daughter, that I’ll have to concoct a story to explain why I’ve suddenly decided to pack up and go home.

And all because Suki Tatsukichi says so.

But after I’ve stepped into the lounge, taken my place on the sofa beside Gerald, draped my arm around his shoulder and eased his head onto my bosom, my mood improves. Trisha needs me, and that will always count for something.

It isn’t long before Gerald stirs from slumber. I wait for him to come fully awake, then deliver the news that I’ll be leaving.

I don’t say why. I’ve told enough lies.