Wherein can be discovered questions on the identity of a wren and doubts as to its integrity. The varied delights of a formal ball including pink gins as a tool of the unscrupulous. Do not trust them gentle reader! Men, not the gins naturally! Blood and broken bones in the moonlight, anguish both emotional and physical. Plans awry, a stowaway, and Grace de Messembry bids farewell to someone of no account. Or does she?

Quite unusually action packed. I feel quite faint and must lie down. Sal volatile anyone?

>

Because David's tale is slow in its serialisation, and long in the telling, it was suggested to me that the following character list might help in jogging readers' memories. Hope it does.

Previously encountered Characters in order of appearance/mention.

Anne. She was already at the Holding Wing before David’s arrival. Her background is that of a boy saved from drug abuse and social problems by one of the charitable organisations under the aegis of the Venumar foundation. Was ‘promoted’ to the Finishing Centre with David.

Emma. Was also at the Holding Wing before David' arrival, but is a genetic girl. She represents the other, outwardly charitable, function of the Holding Wing, which is the education and training of girls coming from under-privileged and troubled backgrounds. Now graduated from the Holding Wing returning as a junior staff member. Together with Anne is a support to, and confidante of, David.

David. (Victor Jackson) The hero whose adventures we follow. Generally referred to by others as Sophie. ‘Recruited’ and then subjected to months in ‘Reception’ before progressing to the ‘Holding Wing’ where much of the subsequent action, apart from his stay in the hospital facility, took place. Has now spent some time at the Finishing Centre at Helgarren Hall itself.

Michael. Emma's boy friend.

Nigel. One of the boys attending the Post-Inspection party at the Holding Wing, at which he made advances to David, whose stiletto heel subsequently broke bones in his foot.

Laura. David’s mentor in the ‘Holding Wing’. Her other charges then being Anne and Emma.

Coralie. A late ‘recruit’ arriving at the Holding Wing after David. Tried to knife Grace de Messembry but the attempt was instinctively foiled by David and she was sent to Rehabilitation as a result. Mentally scarred by the experience. She shares David’s background, having been forcibly recruited and conditioned at Reception before arriving at the Holding Wing. Now also at The Finishing Centre.

Simon. A member of the Rook Club/Writers' Guild whom David chose 'faute de mieux' as a possible boyfriend when pressurised to find one. David has had one fumbling encounter with him which did not however lead to a complete consummation of their putative relationship.

Vincent. Anne's version of Simon.

Grace de Messembry. Majority, perhaps sole, shareholder in the Venumar Foundation, which in itself is the controlling influence of numerous international companies. She is apparently the source and instigator of all David’s current woes.

Helen Vanbrugh. Grace de Messembry's close confidante on whom she appears to exercise a moderating influence. She was at David's first interview when he was named Sophie. It is to be assumed that she has director status in the Venumar Foundation. She facilitated David’s move to The Finishing Centre, offering to use her influence with the Principal there that he may receive a special non-hormonal dispensation. This promise was however unfulfilled.

Dr. Pinecoffin. Overall Executive Head of Helgarren Hall. Together with Grace de Messembry and Helen Vanbrugh she was present at David's initial interview after his stay in Reception.

It should be remembered that the plot unfolds through the eyes of David. The descriptions of the people above conform to David’s understanding of their function, character, etc. Use of words such as ‘seemingly’, ‘perhaps’, and ‘apparent’ are because the facts, or surmises, can only be as David understands them. The reader has no other authority from whom he or she can seek verification.

Chapter 44.

“But why the wren?”

The three of them were sitting round Anne's table examining the sheet of paper unfolded before them.

“Does it matter?” There was just a hint of exasperation in Emma's voice. “Sophie we are thrown a lifeline that solves our immediate problem and you are worrying about a bloody bird?”

David felt curiously flat. The initial excitement which he had felt on first reading the note and which had so possessed him when he had first joined the others, the news spilling from his lips, the paper so eagerly given to them, seemed now to have left him feeling drained.

“It just seems so very convenient. Too convenient. The more I think about it, the more .....” His voice tailed off.

“It could be a trap?”

David nodded. He could hear his worry reflected in Anne's voice.

“And somebody must know .... about the escape .... about our uncertainty with the cable .... Who? ....“

“Whoever it is knows more than we do about the Gatehouse security cordon, which means ....”

“For Christ's sake Anne, don't encourage her. Both of you .... listen to me.” Emma was on her feet now, her voice urgent. “We mustn't let not knowing the 'why' or the 'who' paralyse us. The choice is clear. Do we take advantage of this knowledge to get Sophie out of here and free, or do we give up because whoever sent us the note might intend harm rather than help? Be from an enemy rather than an ally?”

“It could be a trap.” David echoed Anne's question as a statement.

“It could but it's just so unlikely. Trap you into what? Is whoever it is lying so that you will be castrated when you try to pass through the Gateway? Why should they? They don't need to....”

David winced.

“.... there's no point. If they wanted to hasten that eventuality they could do it without resorting to an elaborate subterfuge.”

“There could be other reasons,“ ventured Anne, “perhaps they want confirmation that she doesn't want to be female, perhaps ....”

“Perhaps, perhaps, but it is all too elaborate and doesn't make sense. The most likely explanation is that someone wants to help her to escape .... and does it matter why? Or who?” This last a direct question to David.

“No.” David nodded slowly. “Or if it does .... Or if it does, it is immaterial now. Immaterial when set against the chance of .... of being again what I have dreamed of being for so long ....”

Anne gave him a hug. “It can happen, will happen now Sophie dear. Emma's right though, we mustn't be side tracked when the end is in sight.”

“And it is Sophie,” said Emma anxious to smooth any possible ruffled feathers. “The end. In sight. Through the Gateway. Just a few loose ends to tie up. But nothing impossible or even difficult.”

“Lets go through it again.” said Anne. “We only have tomorrow and then the day itself. Just to make sure we haven't forgotten anything. Just to make sure we all know what is required.”

And so they did. It was nearly midnight when they finally split up. They had gone through time and again all the foreseeable preparations possible. There were still things that depended on last minute opportunism, such as the need to part Simon from his car keys, but the fall back plan of hot wiring by Anne had been discussed together with a crash course in the art for David lest Anne be unavailable. Various ways of distracting Simon both temporarily and near-permanently had been examined and rehearsed in theory so that any suitable advantage could be seized.

Anne accompanied the other two to the door and they all stood together for a few moments at the edge of the cobbled square. Emma turned with a farewell kiss for the others. First to Anne with a few whispered conventional thanks for her hospitality. Then to David with a longer, warmer, kiss that perhaps a conventional leave taking would warrant.

“Dearest Sophie, it will be all right. You'll see.” That was all. That and the kiss. And then she was hurrying across the lawn in the direction of the Hall without a backwards look.

“You must get some sleep,” Anne said. “Only two more nights here now. I still can't realise it.”

There was a smile on her lips but David could sense an underlying deep sadness.”

“I shall miss you,” she said. “I am so happy for you. But I shall miss you terribly. More than you know.”

David felt the sadness settle around them, as physical a thing as the darkness of the night.

“And I you. We have been through so much together. Much that I could not have got through without you. Without you being who you are. So very special.”

They stood there. The darkness, the sadness, heavy on them.

“It won't be the end,” David said. “It can't be. We will meet again. When it is over. Come what may. It won't be the end.”

“No, not the end.” But her voice sounded distant, tired as from a long and weary journey.

They turned back towards their respective doors. Desperate to break before parting the tension palpable between them. Anne asked. “What did you mean about the wren, Sophie?”

“ I don't know. It just seems odd. Why take time carefully drawing a wren at the end of the message? A bird that would mean nothing to any of us. A symbol that adds nothing to the message, carefully drawn so it must have taken time. There is no reason for it..... and yet.....”

“And yet?”

“And yet there must be Anne. A reason. Otherwise it wouldn't be there.”

“Isn't there a mass of folk lore associated with the wren? Hunting it .... keeping it in a cage .... killing it?”

“But it so obscure .... and what has folk lore to do with us? Mind you it is the archetypical feminine bird .... Jenny Wren and Cock Robin and all that..... But still even that isn't really relevant.

“Perhaps it just means 'a little bird told me' Sophie?“

“But why a wren?”

“Because .... “ Anne's brow furrowed in thought ....”Because .... Because it is easy to draw.”

Anne looked at him triumphantly. “Because .... it is the one small bird that can be immediately recognised as a small bird when drawn by an unskilled hand. It's the tail!”

“In fact,” she continued thoughtfully, “it is one of the few birds of whatever size that can be easily recognised from a small sketch.”

“You mean .... it was chosen purely because it was recognisable? That what it is, that it being a wren, doesn't matter? What matters is only that we recognise it for what it is?”

Anne looked crestfallen. “Put like that it sounds even more confusing, even more ridiculous. And I thought I was being clever.”

But it was the turn of David to furrow his brow. “I think you might have hit it. It might just be that. I think you may indeed have been clever.”

Anne just looked bewildered.

“Think about it. If the wren is not important for what it is, but only for the fact that we know what it is, then .....”

He paused, trying to get it straight in his own mind.

“.... then if it doesn't mean anything in itself, perhaps it is there purely to distract from something that does.”

“Like a magician's sleight of hand? A sort of find-the-lady deception?”

“A game of find-the-lady? Exactly that Anne dear. All we have to do is see what the wren covers.”

“But does it matter Sophie dear?”

David shrugged. “Perhaps not. Perhaps it is all too late. But there are so many things we don't know. Perhaps will never know. Too many mysteries. Starting with the central one of the bare branches although the answer to that at least may be found outside. So many things unknown that the known lose their certainty.”

And all that night a small bird hopped in and out of Anne's dreams. A small bird with a short, unmistakable, cocked-up, tail. A small bird hopping in and out of branches, not bare but laden with heavily scented mock orange blossom.

But David's dreams were, as they had been for so many months now, filled with softness and gentle persuasions, of quiet warmth and feminine contentments. An entrancing land undisturbed by any hint of jarring masculinity, of desperate flight and uncertain outcome.

Chapter 45.

Afterwards David could never quite remember what happened on that Friday and Saturday before the Ball. Events and appointments seem to merge one into the other, blurring time and people. Friday morning and afternoon seemed to pass in a perfumed whirl of last minute hair appointments, manicures, beauty treatments of such a variety and intensity that there could hardly have been time to eat. Certainly David could not recall ever having had lunch. It was not just being a recipient of all these attentions, all these artful pamperings. Active participation in their provision was also de rigueur. How could it be otherwise? Not only the girls of the Finishing School, but all their tutors and helpers needed to look their very best. And not only them. All the female staff of the greater complex who had any friendship with, or could call on the return of a favour to, any beautician, hairdresser, cosmetologist, witch or wizard, needed, as a matter of life or death, urgent attention that day. And of course all the experts in such artful arcana were themselves invited to the Ball.

'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?' Only with hairdressers rather than guardians centre stage.

Anne and David were amongst the fortunate few to benefit from Saturday morning appointments. Earned by their volunteering to act as assistants during the Friday sessions.

All that Friday, and much of the following Saturday, all the talk, all the speculation, centred round the Ball. Who was wearing what, going with whom. Advice sought and given as to what to wear, what not to wear. Even Emma and Alice interspersed their planning sessions on the 'Escape' with bouts of gossip about all Ball associated topics. It acted as a safety valve. Trivia to relieve the deadly serious matter for which they had to prepare. Emma, and Anne .... and David .... embraced the trivia of the moment. For it was difficult even for David not to be affected by the general excitement. And surely it was necessary for him to dissemble, necessary to feign interest in all the feminine topics and obsessions, necessary for him to share the enthusiasms of his friends lest he be thought different from them.

Lest he drew attention to himself and ruined everything at the last moment. And it wasn't soooo difficult because it really was interesting! And both Emma and Anne had decided on the most fabulous outfits, the one in teal and ivory, the other in a rusty gold. And then the question of highlights. To have or not to have, and if to have .... ? And .... and .... and so many things. And perhaps it was all for the best because David felt quite debilitated when he thought of the future. A future away from Helgarren. Easier to let it happen. To trust to fate. Almost as easy as if he just accepted .... Just stayed with the friends who had come to mean so much to him. But that he must not think about. Must not countenance it. Because to do so would be .... to think the unthinkable

And he was delighted about his own dress. So it was easy to be enthusiastic about that. The others had oohed and aahed over it too when they had stolen away for a private showing. At least he would be able to wear it for a short time. At an event worthy of it. Of them both. A fitting sort of farewell.

Time gathered speed as the evening drew near. Thought became an unattainable luxury under Time's pressure and he found a sort of satisfaction in the mechanics of preparation for the escape as for the ball. First his change of clothing. The simple skirt and sweater, low heeled sensible shoes, basic undies. And the bag containing a change and some spares. And his pills. And all his documents and credit cards. All the things according to the list that the three of them had compiled, and refined, and double checked.

All ready for when the time came.

Time came. Saturday before the Ball.

A long hot bath. He remembered the old army maxim drummed into him at his school's cadet force. 'Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted'. For reconnaissance substitute a hot bath and it was even more valid. And then David shaved. Just to be sure. Not that he seemed to need to now. Not so much. But just to be sure he shaved, because tonight was special.

New undies, panties, bra and short gossamer slip. Unwrapped carefully, silky and sensuous under his fingers, on his body. Moulding, enhancing the lines, the curves. Smoothing on stockings. Leaning back, counterbalancing his shifting posture. Looking down the long length of thigh and calf, the toes straightened away, exaggerating the length. Looking down over a body whose own curves provided a natural introduction to the stocking clad legs. For a long moment poised there, narcisstic, appreciative of the grace he saw in the gentle contours.

And then before the mirror of his dressing table. Surrounded by the long since familiar bottles and pots and sprays and tubes and vials, all essential tools of the art he had acquired. Carefully opening a jar, scooping out some of the contents with immaculately nailed first and middle fingers, he reflectively rubbed the cream into the skin over his cheekbone, his head slightly turned away to afford a better view of the operation in his mirror.

The start of a long and thorough process. The end of a long and thorough indoctrination.

And some considerable time later the cheval glass by the door bore witness that, on that night at least, his long practice had achieved a form of perfection. A form of beauty.

He looked mesmerised at his image. Wanting to turn away, but unable to do so: wanting to deny, but finding only affirmation: wanting to find the lie, but seeing only ......

A knock at the door. David's automatic “Come in” as he tore his gaze away from the glass. Anne stood in the threshold. She too a form of beauty.

Both speechless for a long, long moment. Then ....

“We'll be late,” said Anne. “You are an old slowcoach. I've been waiting ages. You said you would call in for me.”

“Yes,” said David. “I'm sorry. It took longer than I thought and ....”

“It always does Sophie dear. With you it always does.”

Together they walked across Thegn Court, and into the old Hall, wending through the corridors to the ballroom that some long dead Earl of Athelstarn had had constructed in the days of his pomp to impress the neighbours by the munificence of his entertaining.

There were two ante-rooms adjacent to the ballroom itself, one on each of the long sides, with wide doorways giving ample arched views of the floor. A few flower bedecked tables were spaced along the walls of the ballroom itself, reserved for the more important, the more worthy.

They was already a bustle about the place, an excitement in the air, when the two of them arrived. The orchestra was softly playing, warming up with a sixties beat, although the floor was practically deserted. People were far too busy locating friends, forming groups, commandeering tables, and arranging seating around them. Organised as ever, Emma had arrived early and had secured an inconspicuous location, one of the tables at the rear of the room.

Not that they were to be alone. Already with her was a young man whom David recognised as the Michael, one of Grace de Messembry's 'nephews', the one who had so impressed her at the Holding Wing evening celebration when he had done his best to cripple the importunate Nigel. Standing next to him was Laura and Coralie. Hardly had they threaded their way through the swirling throng to them and exchanged the obligatory air kisses and compliments than he felt his own waist seized from behind and the scent of Simon's aftershave impinged on his senses.

“Sophie darling you look exquisite.” The same sentiment just a change of name, chorused by the accompanying Vincent, Anne's swain.

David's heart sank. He wondered how many hours of thought had collectively gone into the greeting. Still they had not been picked for their propensity for original thought. Quite the contrary.

David turned and forced his lips into a practised smile that he hoped would pass as winsome and alluring. Simon, both of them, must be kept in a malleable state this evening.

“I won't be staying long darlings. I need to circulate this evening but at least I can make this my base and I know that Coralie is always welcome.” This from Laura. Her face turned towards Anne and David said that Coralie needed consideration.

“Time for a first drink with you though if only one or more of these young men could make themselves even vaguely useful.”

And so they did. Armed with a mental list of drink requirements, Simon and Vincent made for the bar.

It was difficult. David desperately needed a clear head. He had asked for an angostura and tonic but Vincent had brought back a pink gin saying that this wasn't the evening for sobriety, that it was a celebration and everyone needed to get into the mood! David's initial thought was to empty the glass over him, but sensed the sudden warning tenseness of Anne next to him and checked, smiled sweetly, and accepted the glass in outward compliance. Lull not oppose.

Still it was difficult. Gin and tonic would have been better. Same amount of alcohol but longer. And he needed the length more than the alcohol .... that as well of course to take away some of the tension, to calm some of the nerves, but, and perhaps it was a side effect, he needed something in his hand. To toy with, to keep himself occupied. But he must stay away from the alcohol!

With a shock he realised he had emptied his glass. Having already refused Simon's offer of a dance twice, David suddenly took up an offer by Michael and went with him to the dance floor. Anything to kill time, to fill in the couple of hours before .... anything to maintain a clear head.

When Michael brought him back to the table David saw that in his absence another round had been brought. Apart from Emma and Coralie, the others had disappeared, but another pink gin, courtesy of Simon, sat in front of him. It sat there threatening him. He looked to Emma for help but she was deep in conversation with her returned Michael

“What's it like?”

“What's what like?”

“Your drink silly, I don't think I have ever tasted a pink gin.”

Coralie leant towards him. The candle flame from the table twinned in her eyes.

“Try it,” he said. “Take a sip.” And pushed his glass towards her.

She took the glass in both hands, raised it to her lips and sipped, made a little pout of her lips as she reflectively let it swill around her mouth.

Coralie pulled a little wry face.

“I'm not sure,” she said, “it's rather bitter.”

David smiled at her. “It's an acquired taste. You have to persevere.”

Another small sip.

“What are you drinking?” David asked.

“Just a long spritzer. Laura thought I should start with one .... but a second ....?”

“I'll swop you, I could do with something a little longer after that dance ... and you do need to persevere with the pink gin... acquiring a taste needs more than just a couple of sips..”

“Are you sure you don't mind Sophie dear?”

“No, not at all, my pleasure Coralie dear?” And David reached gratefully over for the tall spritzer glass.

The others returned from the floor. The ball was getting under way now. David saw a sudden commotion at the far end of the ballroom that heralded the arrival if the Minister of State with a couple of subsidiary flunkeys. Grace de Messembry, Helen Vanbrugh and Dr. Pinecoffin made up the little group as they settled around the table near the orchestra.

David noted with a sort of bitter satisfaction, that the Minister had already been reduced to a subsidiary figure by Grace who treated him as a sort of butler whom she was tolerating at a staff outing. At one stage he had risen and obviously was on the point of fulfilling his social obligations by asking her for a dance, but he was frozen by a glance, and, after murmuring something to Helen from whom he had an equally frosty response, was reduced to awkwardly reseating himself. Put in his place as someone there under sufferance because of the position he held, and certainly not because of any pretension to the breeding that he so obviously lacked.

David felt almost sorry for him.

David danced with Simon, and Vincent, and then Simon again.

“Keep things normal” both Anne and Emma kept whispering to him. So he tried to. David found another round of drinks was awaiting his return to the table after dancing with Vincent. Coralie, her eyes somehow unnaturally bright, winked at him. And at the first opportunity they switched glasses again.

A general air of animation, of gaiety, began to pervade. The hum of voices grew louder, heads inclined closer. The dance floor grew more crowded, the dancers more energetic. The men, Simon included, shed their jackets. He left it draped temptingly over the back of his chair and David had only to slide his arm down to .....

Emma had had the same thought, David saw her shake her head slightly in his direction. Her lips mouthed a 'No' at him.

“I need to repair the ravages,” she said. “Coming Sophie?” And she was away, heading for the Ladies with David in her wake. Out of ear shot she slowed, took his arm and with the air of exchanging girlish confidences whispered. “Not yet dear. You have still got three quarters of an hour to go. Plenty of time for him to notice they are gone. And they may not be there. They may be in his trouser pockets.”

She giggled.

“So that's your first task Sophie dear. Give the poor dear a thrill next time you dance close. Choose a nice smoochy number and feel if a set of car keys nestle amongst his crown jewels.”

“And if they do?”

“If they do dear you will either have to get him to some secluded place and persuade him to take his trousers off, which shouldn't be too difficult, or ....”

“Or?”

“Sophie! The look on your face!. You really are quite priceless! If not, Anne will just hot wire the car. It is just that if we can nick his keys then it simplifies things, and you can slip out on your own whilst we cover for you. Or we can try our luck with Vincent, or Michael come to that. After all it is not as if you are stealing them. Just borrowing for the one trip.”

In the protected femininity of the powder room they sat next to each other, going through the motions of improving on the perfection of their make-up. Smoothing their lips gently, pausing and pursing them to examine the result. Repeating the process. Unnecessarily so David would once have thought before he learnt better.

“There are three boys and four of us. So if the keys aren't in his trousers, wait until either Anne, you or I are left wall flowers, and whoever it is can lift them at leisure.”

Emma's hand held his wrist firmly. “It will be all right Sophie. Just remember you need to be out of here at a quarter to nine. If Anne needs to hot wire she can do it whilst you change into your going away outfit.”

David saw that her eyes were suspiciously bright as her lips twisted in a forced smile.

“Just slip away Sophie dear. We'll ... Anne and I .... we'll understand. We won't have the luxury of goodbyes. Perhaps it is better so. I hate them anyway. Particularly .... But it doesn't matter. Just slip away.”

“Yes.” David felt his throat swell. Making words difficult.

The hand on his wrist swivelled into his palm and David felt a wedge of paper pressed into his hand.

“A safe contact. When you have settled. Let me know. For Anne too.”

David dropped the folded paper into his clutch bag.

“Yes. Thanks .... for everything. I will. Of course.”

They made their way back with silence between them There seemed nothing to say. Or perhaps too much to say. It all seemed little unreal.

Another hand on his arm. From behind.

“Sophie! Emma!”

They both turned. Helen Vanbrugh stood smiling at them.

“You look absolutely ravishing. Both of you. I am so pleased. Particularly for you Sophie dear. So very pleased.”

“Yes she does. Doesn't she Miss Helen, Looks quite beautiful.”

“Yes Emma, and so do you .... “ The dark eyes glowed reassurance. “Only Sophie has come rather further, had a more difficult path ....”

“.... and I feel a special responsibility.... So I pray her devils are quieted .... that she can enjoy her beauty .... find comfort in what she has achieved.”

She leant across and a lock of her raven hair brushed David's cheek as her lips touched him in the gentle pressure of a kiss.

“I have a little present for you Sophie dear. Not here of course, but you will find it waiting for you .... You have always been curious about it .... Not that it makes any difference of course as I have always told you .... but your curiosity has such a feminine intensity ....”

“I don't know what to say .... thank you Miss Helen.” She had always had had the capacity to surprise him. Even now he didn't know ....

“No thanks are due Sophie dear .... but I must go now .... Social and business obligations call .... You don't know how lucky you two are being able to choose the friends at your table. Politicians are basically so dull! Such limited intelligence. And as for conversation .... “ Helen Vanbrugh shuddered theatrically. “The only redeeming feature is listening to Grace quite outrageously mocking them and wondering how far even she can go without one of them having the simple guts to protest.”

Helen veered away from them as they neared their table.

“I hope it does work out for you Sophie dear .... Do take care .... And you too Emma of course.”

They paused to watch her go, gracefully moving between the couples on the dance floor like a fox through standing barley.

“I wonder,” said Emma. “I mean I thought at one time that she could be the wren. Not that it matters.”

David shrugged, his hands elegantly, expressively, complementing the movement of his shoulders.

“Who knows. As you say it doesn't matter now.”

“You've been absolutely ages Sophie darling. Come and dance!” Simon rose from his chair at their approach, his hands held out invitingly towards David. David felt Emma's hand touch the back of his elbow, urging him forward, The strains of a slow and dreamy tune filtered through from the orchestra.

The floor was quite crowded with couples slowly circulating. Over Simon's shoulders saw that Anne and Vincent had also taken the floor and that Michael was in the process of persuading Coralie from her chair. Simon obviously had decided to waste no time. On hand slid round to rest on David's left buttock, the other drew David's fingers into his chest, turning his hand so that the back of it was pressed to David's breast. David made no attempt to resist, concentrating on Emma's words. The old phrase about lying back and thinking of England swam into the back of his consciousness.

Slow progression around the floor. Slow progression of Simon's hands on David's back and buttocks. Slow movement of his hand on David's breast. The murmurings of banal sweet nothings into David's ear. Anne circling close by, winked encouragingly at David over her partner's shoulder.

David forced himself to relax as Simon's hips pressed closer. He really was rather portly, his belly already evident. God knows what it would be like in ten years time....

“How are you feeling Sophie dear?” David half stumbled, momentarily loosing his rhythm at the sheer inconsequenciality of the question. Recovering with a muttered “Fine,” he found himself drawn in closer in Simon's embrace. As close as it was possible to get. No escaping the pressing evidence of Simon's sexual arousal. No mistaking the intent behind the slight rhythmic roll of his body. David slid his free hand down Simon's back and slowly, insistently, insinuated it between their bodies, his fingers feeling, exploring.

A slight moan escaped Simon's lips. Slight but perfectly audible to anyone within a three yard radius. Perfectly audible to Grace de Messembry and those around her table at the edge of the floor. David's slow revolution brought him almost face to face with her and saw, to his complete shame, her eyebrows exaggerate a perfect parabola of mocking approval. Followed by what in anyone else would have been an unmistakably salacious wink. David felt the blood flood into his cheeks. In his mortification again he stumbled, pressing his own body hard against Simon's.

“Are you sure you are feeling O.K. darling?” Again Simon's inexplicable concern for his state of health.

This time David could take advantage of it. “If I could just rest a minute .... I am sorry but .... it is rather warm and .... nothing serious but .... if I could just sit for a few minutes?

Simon, the very model of solicitous concern, led him back to their table, held his chair for him, and left to fetch him a glass of iced water.

“The keys aren't in his trouser pockets.”

“I know,” said Emma. “They're in your bag. In ten minutes I will get Simon on the floor. Slip away then. You know his car? ”

“Yes. He has talked about it enough. A boy racer thing by Vauxhall. Black with yellow stripes.”

“Then just slip away. Just leave the rest to Anne and I. No goodbyes. Remember ....”

But whatever it was he had to remember David never learnt. There was a slight commotion behind them and they turned to see Michael approaching, half supporting a somewhat unsteady Coralie. She looked flushed and, as Michael fed her into her chair, David could see beads of sweat on her forehead and running down her hair line on the side of her face.

“I'm all right really, Just need to sit down a moment.” Her words echoed those of David a few moments ago but carried a lot less conviction. Something obviously was wrong. Both he and Emma were on their feet. Anxious, solicitous.

“Give her room,” Michael said, “a little air.”

Anne arrived from the floor, towing Vincent behind her. A moment later Simon came back bearing the iced water intended for David.

“What's the matter?”

“Give the glass to Coralie. Her need is the greater.”

Coralie sipped, took a larger gulp.

“We were dancing, and she seemed suddenly a little unsteady, started slurring her words. I thought for the moment she was drunk, but ....” Michael hesitated,

“.... but I think it must be more than that .... Emma told me that she hadn't been well, but I thought .... it was nothing physically wrong .... I mean ....

“She was only drinking spritzers,” put in Vincent. I brought her one and then Simon, and then he .... perhaps another ..... but nothing to get drunk on. Not like this. Perhaps a little into party mode, but ....”

“I swopped drinks with her .... I felt thirsty and .... “ David's voice tailed off, then quietly resumed. “She drank my pink gins .... I am sorry but ....”

“Christ, but you can't have!”

“Don't be a fool Simon. It's not Sophie's fault. Three pink gins might make you slightly merry if you are not accustomed to alcohol, but not like this ....” Emma gestured towards Coralie.”

“Let me have a look at her.” Laura was suddenly back amongst them. Taking charge, a hand on Coralie's brow, looking into her eyes. Uttering soothing words. Repeating Michael's plea. ”Stand back. Give her a little air.”

David felt a hand on his elbow, guiding him to the fringe of the little group.

An urgent whispered “Go now. No one will notice. It is a golden opportunity. Go now. Good luck.”

And he did. With Emma's whispered 'Good Luck' to sustain him, David quietly left. Slipped away from the bright lights and seductive music of the ballroom; slipped away from the concerned little group around Coralie; slipped away from Anne and Emma; slipped away alone.

Through the darkened corridors, across the courtyard, by the fountain silver under a near full moon in a sky streaked with black scudding clouds, back to the little house that had been his home since his arrival at Helgarren.

There on the doorstep he nearly fell over a small parcel. The present of which Helen had spoken. He picked it up. No mistaking the weight and shape of a book. It could only be one thing but it would have to wait. Inside the house all was ready. The book in a side pocket of his bag. Off with the ball gown, a twinge of regret as he stepped out of it. It really was the most beautiful dress and for some unknown reason he smoothed it out and carefully hung on its hanger inside his wardrobe. His undies were hardly appropriate for the simple navy linen skirt and wrapover top but that could be rectified later. Found his sensible shoes, the ones he always used for his walks with Anne and Bramble.

Emma had brought him one of her coats, a blue grey military style reefer jacket. It was warm and bore, clipped to its lapel, her own Venumar pass. A rectangle with a small photograph of her in one corner. No-one looks all that closely she had assured him. It's hardly polite to put your head inside a car for a close inspection of a girl's left boob. Especially if it's on crooked - the pass not the boob - she had said. And they had both giggled.

David had worried that it might get her into trouble if things went wrong but Emma had persuaded him that it would be easy to claim that he had nicked it.

A last glance in the mirror before leaving. Habits, even acquired ones, especially acquired ones, die hard.

“Damn!” The earrings wouldn't do. Incongruity personified. They screamed 'ballroom'. David took them off. Dropped them in his jewellery box, hesitated and then carefully selected a pair of diamond studs. Paused, shrugged, and carefully inserted them into his ears.

He emptied his clutch bag into a shoulder bag. Checking that Simon's car key was there, slipped them into a side pocket, picked up his bag and .... one last look round .... remembering .... and then he closed the door softly behind him, hearing the latch click, before following the cobbles round to the side opening that led behind the Hall to the car park.

They had extended the car park. The original surfaced area was largely reserved for the upper echelons of the Venumar Foundation and their guests. David found Simon's car parked off the tarmac area on an adjacent grassed plot. A black Vauxhall with yellow go-faster stripes.

The key fitted, the door opened, David slid own before the wheel, inserted and turned the key, the engine fired and settled down to a steady rasping beat. He reversed out of the row, swung right between the parked cars, slowly not having driven for .... how long .... a year? Never having driven in heels. Even one and a bit inches felt strange on the pedals. Swung left and felt a slight bump as he gained the end of the car park proper and then the beginning of the avenue of lime trees that sentinelled the pewter ribbon of road curving towards the Gateway. Clear now, David glanced at the rear view mirror, saw nothing there, no hue and cry, no frantic figures pursuing him, no-one, nothing ....

“Jesus!” A figure in front of him, arms outstretched.

David wrenched the wheel to the left.

A thud as the offside wing of the car hit and threw the figure across the road. In paralysing horror David saw, white in his head lights, Simon's face, eyes staring in sudden fear.

A lurch as the car left the road, and as he belatedly swung the wheel back, a sudden crunch as the nearside front ricocheted off a tree before coming to a sudden stop on the verge.

Simon lay still where he had come to rest on the other side of the roadway. His body half twisted, his face turned upwards, pale in the moonlight, a smear of blood on his temple and right cheek, dark as a cloud skein across the moon.

David knelt besides him. Filled with a sense of unreality, acting as if in a dream, he felt for a pulse, listened for a breath. Please God let him not be dead. Please God let me not have killed him.

A stirring, a moan. Thank God. Eyes open. Recognition. “You!” and “My bloody car.”

Simon struggled to sit up. Sank back with a little gasp of pain.

“Bastard.”

More footsteps. Running along opposite the verge towards them, then light across the road to join them. A slight figure in a ball gown. In a ball gown of rusty gold. Anne. Then her arm around his shoulder. Feeling his body trembling in shock.

“Are you all right Sophie dear?”

“Yes Anne. I think so. I wasn't going all that fast when I hit .... him .... and then the tree.”
His hand felt up and held onto her's on his shoulder. “But he, Simon .... he's hurt ....”

“Looks like he'll live. Let's get him moved.” Curt.

“But we shouldn't move him Anne.... Not until we know how badly .... the extent of his injuries .... They say we shouldn't .... And it's my fault .... I hit him.”

“Listen Sophie. It is his fault. And if he's hurt it bloody well serves him right. I hope it hurts like hell!”

Spurred into another attempt by Anne's words, Simon managed to attain a sitting position.

“You bitch,” he said. “Bitches both of you. Sophie was trying to escape, trying to escape in my car, stealing my car. And you must have been helping her .... Wait till I tell .... “

“Shut up. And stay shut up. You aren't going to tell anyone anything, ever. Not if you want to avoid a prison sentence, or any alternative that Grace de Messembry might decide on if she wishes to keep it in-house as it were.”

David felt her body tense with fury.

“He tried to spike your drink Sophie. The pink gin he brought you, and then when you didn't seem to react, another. He didn't realise you'd switched with Coralie.”

Anne looked down at Simon. “On your feet. Now. I don't care if the effort kills you. On your feet and we will get you to First Aid.”

Confirmation of Anne's charge was writ plain in Simon's face. “No,” he said. “I didn't. And anyway you can't prove it. .... And ...”

“Of course we can prove it. Emma has the glasses. Your fingerprints will be all over them. And the residue will tell its own tale. And additionally we will all swear blind that you had planned the whole thing. Letting Sophie have your car. Luring her away for a dirty week-end were you? We tried to dissuade her from it but you wouldn't listen .... We didn't know of course that you intended to drug her first to make her more compliant .... Grace de Messembry will just love you ....”

“But it's all lies .... I had no idea ... “

“It isn't a lie that you spiked the drink and once that is established, the sky's the limit as to what people will believe.”

There was a sort of tigerish satisfaction on Anne's face. “So just keep it buttoned and do as I say.”

“Take his other arm Sophie dear, and lets get him on his feet.”

There was a cry of agony. “My wrist ... let go ... It must be broken. Please.” A sob.

David looked down. Simon's hand did seem to be at an odd angle. Anne's teeth gleamed white in a feral smile.

“Thanks for telling me! Bloody stand up then! Or I'll pull you up with it. Your choice. If you're very good I will give you my shoulder as a crutch.”

Up Simon came. His side hurt as did his right hip and thigh. Anne was unmoved by the pain etched in his features.

“Better move now while the adrenalin makes movement possible,” she told him, “Before it gets a lot worse.”

Anne's free arm shook David gently. “Wake up,” she said. “Get a grip. You can't afford the luxury of shock. Get the car back to the car park. The far end. Push its nose into the shrubbery. Its no use to you now. The headlights have gone and God knows what its done to the tracking.”

She shook him again.

“You understand? Nothing has changed. Its still on. I will see this pathetic creep back to the Hall and dump him. Then I'll be back. We'll hot wire something and you're away. There is still bags of time. Wait for me at the car park. The top end near the Hall. There is a couple of company cars there to choose from. No-one will miss one tonight.”

She shrugged her shoulder free from under Simon leaving him to lurch against a tree, holding on, and drew David away.

“Dearest Sophie. I didn't realise you had left. With all the fuss around Coralie. Then when Emma told me. I couldn't bear not to say goodbye. Not after all .... So I ran after you in the hope .... To catch you .... To say goodbye. And if he hadn't tried to intercept .... he must have realised his keys were gone .... So at least some good came from it.”

Anne paused. Hesitant, all the decisiveness of the last few minutes seemingly drained away. She fumbled in her bodice. Produced a crumpled envelope. “

“If .... If after it is all over.... If ... you want to find me again. Whatever happens. This is the address of the neighbour. The one who gave me Bertie, the hamster, you remember...?”

“I remember.”

“He will know where to find me. Otherwise at the end of that road, his road, there is a pub, 'The Seven Stars'. Ask for me there, Anne ....”

Her chin tilted up. Defiant. Decided.

“Anne Falconer.”

He held her close.

“And Sophie.... In the envelope there is something I wrote. I know its not very good. But I tried to explain. And it helped. Helped with the pain.... And I want you to remember .... that I too ... that I ....”

David's cheek was wet with tears, but whether his or Anne's he did not know.

Between them there was the silence of understanding.

Anne pulled away. Swallowed hard.

“I shall be back. Wait for me in the car park.”

Turning away, Turned away.

David watched the pair of them hobble away three-legged and then turned back the the boy racer Vauxhall with the go-faster stripes.

With only one front side light operative he edged it back along the moonlit road, back into the over flow car park. Buried its nose between two bushes at one end. The trembling had died down. Had died when Anne had held him. When he had realised there were other emotions, emotions stronger than shock.

He waited there five minutes. To give Anne time. Although the night in the ballroom was still young and the odds of anyone leaving now remote, there was no point in tempting fate. Then, bag and handbag clasped tightly, David made his way towards the main car park close to the looming black outline of the Hall itself.

The car park connects by a feeder road off the main drive that sweeps in a broad loop to the front of the impressive Queen Anne frontage of Helgarren Hall. David could see a couple of Rolls and a Bentley. No chauffeurs to be seen. Another half dozen assorted black lesser limousines awaiting The Venumar Foundation's command.

The little watch that Laura had given him when he first arrived in the Holding Wing was not ideally suited to reading at night even under a fullish moon. David peered at it but to no avail. Had he been there another five minutes? Surely Anne should be back by now? Surely ....?

Then footsteps. But not single ones. And coming from the front of the Hall. Down the little path that served as a short cut to the car park. Several people. And not women. At least .... perhaps the tip tap of one pair of high heels amongst the tread. Perhaps ....?

Jesus! Although the path ran in the Hall's shadows where the moonlight reached only by reflection, there could be no mistaking the female member of the party. Three men, mere anonymous silhouettes, following in her wake, reverential courtiers to her progress. The Minister of State for Science and Technology and his two advisers.

David ducked back. Their approach triggered an overhead light that illuminated the far entrance to the car park. David saw that there were other lamp posts spaced out along its length that in turn would be triggered to switch on. There was a small drop at his back below which there were flower beds and below them the overspill car park. But first there was a fence. Only about four feet high but he would be seen if he tried to climb it. The only way to avoid discovery was to retreat, doubled up, behind the cars, away from the Hall and hope that ....

A beam of light swept behind him, chasing blackness back towards the Hall, so that everything was double shadowed. A Rolls Royce. The Minister's.

It was a matter of a a few seconds at the most before he was discovered. David crouched behind a large Volvo estate, his hand pressed against its tailgate to steady himself. It gave a small click and almost imperceptibly moved. Down lower he dropped and, as the gate swung upwards and outwards, he rolled inside, pulling the tail gate down behind him.

He lay there hardly daring to breathe. Surely they must have seen, must have heard? The tailgate hadn't gone high, but surely any noise any movement would be detected in the stillness?

Maybe he should just have run for it. Over the fence and away? They wouldn't have caught him and Grace de Messembry might not have recognised ....? But if they had chased him, searched for him, it would have meant that his chance of getting away, of Anne hot wiring a car, would be gone.

It was too late now. He could hear their voices quite plainly. The Minister's Rolls must have stopped a couple of yards away and he and his entourage were taking their leave.

“So sorry to be going .... quite delightful evening.... only wished we could stay longer .... but a Minister's life .... Quite impossible .... the work load .... not to mention the responsibilities.... perhaps next time....”

For her part Grace de Messembry expressed her understanding, hoped that they had enjoyed their all too brief visit, wished to be remembered to the Prime Minister who himself would also be welcome to visit if his calendar permitted such a luxury.

“Preferably in the reasonably near future,” she pointed out. “Bearing in mind that the elections cannot surely be delayed much longer.” Her voice dripped concern. “And the general public, poor dears, such a fickle lot nowadays, always slow to give politicians, particularly those currently in power, any benefit of the doubt.”

Helen's comments on their table talk came back to David. No wonder they were escaping early.

If anything though Grace de Messembry's words served only to spur the Minister on to further obsequious banalities.

“Will tell the Prime Minister .... Most impressed .... Great work you are doing ..... Outstanding contribution to balance of trade ... Venumar Foundation a Jewel in the Crown of ....”

Grace de Messembry shut the door on him cutting of the flow of verbiage.

David heard the engine variations as The Rolls backed, turned and left, the purr of the engine fading in the direction of the Gateway.

He listened, crouched in the dark of the Volvo's luggage space. Strained his ears as the sound of the car died away, strained his ears for the sound of high heels also receding.

Nothing. She was still standing there. Perhaps even closer now. He could smell her perfume. The same perfume that haunted his dreams. That had been such an inherent part of all the humiliations he had suffered in her company. That never-to-be-forgotten scent.

Then her voice.

“Yes, they've gone at last. God they give me a headache. I have always had my doubts about the concept of democracy and each time I have to spend more than five minutes in the company of politicians such are amply justified..”

Who was?... It was, it must be, her mobile.

“Universal suffrage has a lot to answer for if it spawns idiots like that .....”

The sound of heels moving away, her voice fading ... then back....

.... you will find an attaché case, leather, usual thing..... Ask Amanda to bring it to me here .... “

Heels retreating, voice fading away again, indiscernible, a pause. Then footsteps again ... nearer..

“ ....Du Maurier hotel .... Yes .... if she would take it to the Reception there. Wait for an answer but no longer than ten minutes .... Yes I think that should be ample time. “

Laughter. “.... Yes Helen they would lose their heads if they were loose. Although I don't expect they would miss them for a while. I suppose that's why they have advisers. Just to check.”

Again the footsteps moved away, circling at a distance, returning

“....so all in all a very satisfactory evening. Best laid plans of mice and men may indeed gang aft aglae with irritating regularity, but one has to measure that against there being a tide in the affairs of men .... Speaking of which, it and time of course wait for no one .... and this particular wingá¨d chariot needs to get a move on if it isn't to miss the boat.”

Grace de Messembry laughed, a deep, sensuous, sound of pleasure.

“No Helen I am certainly not drunk. But you might make sure some of the best champagne is on the table when I return. Not the politician's variety, but the decent one. Things really have gone so well tonight. Very well indeed. Tell you all about it soon. Bye.”

She must be leaning against the car, David thought. He could hear her fingers tapping on the roof. He must keep quiet. He longed to change position, needed to ease the ache in his hip. He never realised how difficult it is to stay quite still for any length of time. Certainly not when one was conscious that it was important .... For God's sake why didn't she walk away? Why couldn't she meet Amanda, whoever she was, somewhere else?

And where was Anne?.... Dear Anne she would wonder .... she wouldn't know .... She must be frantic....

“Amanda. There you are. Helen has explained? Good. Yes the Du Maurier. Sorry to drag you away but you should be back in a couple of hours, just when things will be warming up nicely.”

The car door opened. There was a thump as something was dumped on the back seat. The driver's seat creaked slightly as someone slid into the car.

“Bye Miss Grace.”

“Drive carefully Amanda.”

The car door slammed. There was a dismissive tap of a hand on the car roof. The whirr of the starter. The purr of the engine. And the car moved off. Up the slip road, on to the main drive and towards the Gatehouse.

Towards the Gatehouse. Towards freedom. Towards the cable, the disabled cable or so the little bird had said. The little wren. And what was her angle? To kill Cock Robin?

Better just to think of freedom.